


...and Two Steps Back

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [15]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BROTPs abound, F/M, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Preventers (Gundam Wing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 24,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: AC 207 at first brings with it the calm of the previous winter, but this is quickly ended when Wufei is captured alongside other Preventers agents in Honduras while on a routine field investigation.  But the captors are not after the agents; they're after Wufei.  His capture, rescue, and subsequent outing as one of the heretonow unknown Gundam Pilots cause tremors throughout the ESUN...and his own life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 15 of the [Life After Meteor](http://archiveofourown.org/series/391015) series, which trails the Gundam Pilots (and others) through the years post-war. Welcome comments/feedback.
> 
> Also kindest thanks to [tumbledrylemur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbledrylemur/) for the beta reading. Couldn’t have done it without you! <3

**Schbeiker Scrap and Salvage  
** **L2-V10328  
** **207 January 2**

Duo leaned forward toward the wall mirror as he straightened the silver chain that held Saint Jude around his neck. [1]  He then pulled the short braid, which now trailed just to the middle of his back, through the chain loop and let it fall against his back.  It hit him lightly between his shoulder blades.

Standing upright once more, he caught Heero’s reflection in the mirror, loitering at the door to the bedroom.  “You can come in, you know,” Duo chided.  “It’s your room too.”  He watched Heero glance down the hall before ducking inside and quietly shutting the door behind him.

Hilde had created this space for them years ago, after the war.  It had been the first real ‘home’ either he or Heero had had after the conflict, one which they had cautiously embraced in their own ways.  He remembered coming in from the scrapyard one day to find the room filled with actual furniture, actual beds, a gift Hilde refused to accept payment for...or resell, apparently.  Duo had been certain Hilde would have repurposed the space by now, but she had left it alone, as if they had only gone off-colony for a short time to joyride rather than spend years breathing Earth oxygen.

Now, Duo watched Heero’s reflection cross the familiar room and close the distance between them.  He wrapped his arms around Duo’s waist from behind and ducked his head to rest his cheek against Duo’s shoulder.  For a moment, neither said anything, and Duo could feel Heero breathe where the other man’s chest met his back.  Dropping his hands from the silver chain to the forearms that pressed against his stomach, Duo asked gently, probing, “You okay?”

Heero was silent for a long time.  But then he mumbled, the words rumbling against Duo’s own ribs, “I don’t want to go back.”  

Duo didn’t want to either—the respite, however brief, from the churning maelstrom that was the ESUN had been...nice.  But reality was calling them back down to Earth and no matter how much they struggled against it, time ticked onward to their shuttle’s departure.  

When Duo didn’t reply, Heero turned his head to kiss his shoulder and he let his eyes close before the Heero’s gaze could find his own.  For a moment, he had the crazy urge to disappear into the wilds of L2, to take Heero’s hand in his and _run_...from the duties and responsibilities, the social moorings and the politics that seemed to occupy such prime real estate in his brain in present times.

But he knew it was an impossibility.  He _liked_ it too much, to his surprise.  Some vindictive part of him enjoyed out-maneuvering the assholes that bred themselves into the ruling elite.  He took too much joy watching decorum strangle them as they ceded authority to some up-jumped L2 street kid.  It fueled some starving, sinister part of him; something which he doubted he’d ever admit aloud.  

With a sigh, Duo turned in Heero’s embrace and slung his thin arms over the other man’s broad shoulders.  He rested his chin on Heero’s shoulder and glared out at the room.  As much as he liked the pace of Brussels, he liked being this close to Heero a lot better.  The man was solid against him, and gave his cluttered mind a safe place to tune out.  Even now, Heero’s fingers had shifted from their place at his waist to chart courses along the knots along his spin, drawing another sigh from Duo.

“When will I get to see you again?” Heero asked him.  The question sounded hesitant, sad.

Unseen by his other half, Duo grimaced.  “Depends,” he replied.  He felt Heero tense against him.

“On?”

Duo steeled his nerves for the conversation he had waited too damn long to have and, by way of answer, asked, “Do you want to keep doing this, whatever ‘this’ is?  The Experiment, I mean.”

“Yes.”  The answer was prompt and sure.  

Duo smiled.  “Me too,” he said and he felt the tension begin to bleed out of the man pressed against him.  “I figure...maybe we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore, ya know?” He paused to worry his lower lip for a moment, but continued before Heero could say anything.  “Maybe...maybe we wouldn’t have to _advertise_ or whatever, with flash bulbs and neon lights, but….I wouldn’t mind being introduced as ‘the boyfriend,’ if the situation allows.”

After a beat, Heero pulled back to look him in the eyes and Duo found it difficult to hold that steady gaze.  He was therefore surprised when Heero lowered his eyes first, his attention drawn to the silver pendant that rested in against Duo’s chest.  “Does...does this mean I also get to be ‘the boyfriend’ sometimes?” he asked, his voice startlingly soft.  Uncertain.

There was something painful about that uncertainty, something Heero wouldn’t share.  Duo craned his neck to press a quick kiss to Heero’s forehead and settled his hands on Heero’s arms, feeling the biceps twitch under his fingers.  “Of course.  That’s kind of the standard operating procedure, after all.”

“Are you sure?”

At this Duo’s grin widened.  “As sure as a guy can be when he’s dating his own wingman.”

Heero raised his eyes then and gave him a small smile.  The sight made Duo’s heart hurt in a strangely pleasant way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Reminder: the St. Jude pendant was [a gift from Heero](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6030742/chapters/13830007) several years ago.
> 
> [*] The super talented [hasuyawwn](http://hasuyawwn.tumblr.com/) was kind enough to do a piece featuring a soft Duo and Heero. You can see it over on [Tumblr](https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/170446986504/for-a-moment-neither-said-anything-and-duo) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/311376)


	2. Chapter 2

**Unmarked Road  
** **Due South of Juticalpa, Honduras  
** **207 February 27**

_ And it had all been going so well.   _

The thought came with the bitter taste of delirium.  The world had closed in along the edges of his field of vision as Wufei watched from behind the wheel of the field team’s car as two battered trucks burst out of the treeline and closed the road ahead of them.  

“Get us out of here, Zhang,” the team lead urged, his hands bracing against the dashboard, white-knuckled.  

But Wufei had already thrown the vehicle into reverse and hit the gas.  He turned, focusing his attention on the road through the back window and as someone in the vehicle shouted, “Guns!” he yanked down hard on the wheel.  The car spun as bullets thudded against metal.  Halfway into the spin, Wufei shifted into drive and hit the gas once more.  A bullet shattered their rear  window and the agents huddled in the backseat returned fire at the trucks which swerved to pursue them like sharks.

Distinctly aware of the target his headrest offered their pursuers, he kept the vehicle’s path serpentine, crossing both lanes of the road.   _ Where is everyone?  _ he wondered, not for the first time in the last hour.  It had been odd before; now it could get them killed.  Unless he could throw them off their tail.  

“We need off this road,” the team lead muttered beside him, echoing Wufei’s unspoken thoughts.  They entered a long bend in the road, the berm on the left dropping away into a ravine as the treeline encroached on the right.

As they exited the curve, they were met with a veritable wall of half a dozen vehicles and a small army of fatigue-clad men who stood at the ready, armed to the teeth—including a damn rocket launcher if Wufei’s eyes could be trusted.  “Shit,” he hissed.   _ Nowhere to bail… _

“Ram?” one of the agents in the back asked.

“Too many—we won’t get through the way they’ve clustered together,” the team lead replied, making the same assessment as Wufei.

“They’ll likely blow us up before we get that close anyway,” Wufei added, easing up on the gas.

“Dignity and grace, ladies and gentlemen,” their leader reminded them, sounding resigned.  “Remember your training.”

Wufei brought the car to a stop and threw the brakes before raising his hands with the rest of the group.  He kept his eyes on the man holding the rocket launcher as a smaller contingent walked forward, weapons raised, and opened the vehicle doors.  

They barked orders as the agents were dragged unceremoniously from the car and deposited on the asphalt.  Kneeling, they were stripped of their guns and holsters, phones, and other personal effects, their hands secured behind their backs with zip ties.  Wufei watched as one of the commandos handed over the group’s weapons and credentials to the lone man in the group who stood with his machine gun slung over his shoulder, seeming relaxed.  He flipped through their credentials before pocketing them.  He caught Wufei’s eyes on him and smirked.  “The General has been looking forward to seeing you,” he sneered moments before someone pulled a black hood over Wufei’s head, plunging the world into darkness.

They were separated into different vehicles then, judging by the sound of shuffling, uncertain steps moving away from him.  Wufei was pulled up into one of the larger vehicles, squeezed between two of his captors.  As they headed off, he focused on counting the the minutes between directional changes in the hope that there would be an opportunity to backtrack out of this mess in the near future.  Asphalt was eventually replaced with dirt and gravel and he could hear tree branches striking the truck around them will dull  _ thumps  _ and  _ thwacks  _ as the suspension struggled to manage the terrain.

After an agonizing four hours, the caravan drew to a halt.  Wufei was pulled from the vehicle and set to walking, another man’s hand wrapped tightly around his arm.  The sound of the world around them died away sharply, replaced by their captors’ boots on hard -  _ cement? _ \- floor underfoot.  They had moved inside somewhere.  He was marched blindly down winding corridors until at last he was dropped on the ground in some cell.  Voices and movement told him he wasn’t alone.  This was proven true when the black hood was pulled sharply from his head, revealing a windowless stucco room and the rest of the Preventers team.

The apparent leader of the pack from the road appeared then in the doorway, grinning down at them.  “Gotta say—that went like clockwork.  My gratitude for your cooperation.  We’ve been planning that for awhile.”

“We’re a Preventers field crew,” their team lead began, sticking to the script.  “If you let us go—”

“Trust me,” the man said, cutting him off.  “I don’t think we’re interested in that just yet.  The General doesn’t care about the Preventers.  He’s looking for someone  _ in particular _ .”  His dark eyes swept the group and he spread his arms to the side.  The openness of the gesture was more threatening than the gun still slung over his shoulder.  He wove through the seated group as he spoke, his boots striking the dirty floor with soft thuds.  “You see...the General’s got a bone to pick and you guys just drew the short straw.  Specifically, this person and the boss go way back.  About twelve years back, to be precise.  It’s a tragic story of a battle-hardened general, a colonial terrorist, and the utter demise of the Indus Supply Base.” [1]

Those boots stopped in front of Wufei who looked up to meet the man’s dark eyes.  “You know anything about that, agent?” 

Wufei felt his insides go cold and steeling his resolve, he said only, “No.”

The man grinned.  To the guards hovering at the door, he said, “This one.”  Wufei watched him retreat for a brief moment before another black hood was tugged over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] According to [this map](http://gwepisode50.tumblr.com/post/128770106040/gundam-wing-world-map-episodes-1-17) which [gwepisode50](http://gwepisode50.tumblr.com/) has shared with us all, Wufei hit the Indus Supply Base before heading to Lake Victoria.


	3. Chapter 3

**NYC Preventers Branch  
** **New York, New York  
** **207 March 1**

Heero reported to the Branch office exceptionally early that morning, ordered in by a phone call from the Chief.  Hackles raised for the duration of the subway ride to the building, he swiped his badge at the entrance turnstiles with twitching fingers and crossed the polished floor—footsteps echoing in the empty lobby—to the elevator.  Something was wrong.  Very wrong.

He entered the Branch’s secure suite to find the Chief standing with an analyst from their small intel shop.  Heero realized with some embarrassment that he couldn’t remember her name.  The pair looked up as he approached, concern clear on their faces.  “What’s this about?” he prompted.

The analyst turned away from the Chief and raised a digital notebook, a video queued up to play.  “Preventers was sent this video by a militant group that’s been under investigation,” she explained.  “HQ has reason to believe these images are of Agent Zhang, but due to the video quality they can’t be certain.  They’re hoping the Branch can help make a positive ID.  And since you’re close to him...”  

Heero nodded and the woman pressed a button on the device, a grainy video sprang to life on the screen between them.  “Where’s the audio?” Heero asked as the feed played in silence.  It showed a man bound to a chair in the middle of an unmarked room with a black hood pulled over his face.  Around him stood several other men, armed to the teeth, their faces hidden by bandanas and masks.  

“Struck out by HQ for security reasons,” the analyst said.  “Remember, we’re looking for a positive ID of our agent...”

One of the militants then pulled the hood off of the seated hostage, revealing an Asian man—battered and bleeding, his hair loose about his shoulders.  The same armed assailant then hefted what looked like a brick and struck their bound captive soundly across the face.  Heero bit back the cry that threatened to spill from his lips as he watched the other man’s body reel with the force of the blow, the chair nearly toppling over sideways.

Then, seeming to gather his wits about him, the man turned and spat in his captor’s face.

The feed stopped as the assailant raised the brick for a second strike, the video ending abruptly.   _ Likely cut _ , Heero assumed.  He turned to his colleagues to find himself at the center of their combined, focused attention, clearly anxious to hear his assessment.  Heero bit his lip and took a deep breath.  “Yeah, that’s Wufei.”

The Chief nodded and turned to their analyst.  “Go back to HQ.  Tell them we’ve made the ID.  Tell them to get moving on the EXFIL on the double, if they haven’t already.”  The woman nodded and bolted deeper into the suite; meanwhile, the two men headed for the door, Heero joining his boss at the elevator bank.

As they waited for a car to arrive, Heero said, “I need to be on the EXFIL team.”

His Chief turned, surprised.  “What?” he asked, as if he had misheard.

“I want on the team,” Heero repeated.  

“I don’t have that kind of author–”

“You’re the New York Branch Chief,” Heero cut in, “which means you are the North American lead, too.  You can tell HQ who goes in to get him.”

The man sighed and stepped closer.  He towered over Heero as he shook his head.  “Heero,” he began, seeming as if he was placating an anxious teenager and Heero could feel the denial coming.  “I realize Wufei is your friend.  He’s my Deputy, and everyone here has grown attached to him.  But we need to leave this to the professionals…” [1]

He offered platitudes as they boarded the elevator and continued to do so as they reached the Preventers main offices.  Heero assumed the words were intended to reassure, but they just made him angry.  He could feel his dull fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.  Gritting his teeth, he kept himself silent until the Chief was through and retreating down the hall to his own office.

Turning on his heel, Heero entered his— _ Wufei’s _ —office, and booted the computer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Point of order: the pilots have not been “outted” to the general public and only a few select leaders within the Preventers (i.e., Sally, Noin, Une) have known about their past. Anything tying any of them to the Gundams is heavily redacted. The guys have been known [to joke about it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8257139/chapters/18919867).


	4. Chapter 4

**Preventers Headquarters  
** **Geneva Switzerland  
** **207 March 1**

Sally had served two years now as head of Preventers Logistics and Mission Support Division and she still dreaded receiving those bright red packages that marked an assignment going horribly wrong.  Agents were discovered, agents were captured, agents were dead.  Over a decade working for the Preventers and it had never got any easier.

She had received one such memo only a few hours earlier when a video claiming to have footage of a captured Preventers field team had risen to the upper echelons of the organization.  While the system worked to authenticate its contents and determine the appropriate course of action, she watched the feed.  The audio had been struck by their Intelligence, Research, and Analysis (IRA) wing [1] to allow broader dissemination within the leadership cadre...but she’d received the full file privately from the division’s chief who noted her higher clearances which were ‘relevant’ to this particular case.

It had been a very long time since she had heard the words ‘Gundam pilot’ used in a sentence.  

She had immediately gotten on the phone to her IRA counterpart and ordered the file’s transmission to New York.  

And then she waited.

Now, as the Geneva skies began to darken outside her office window, her assistant walked in the EXFIL operations plan for her approval.  She had flipped through the document to verify its proposed methods before signing off on the extraction of the team in Honduras.  As she was about to stand, her computer _dinged_ , alerting her to an incoming message.  She paused to glance at the sender before opening the message, her heart in her throat.  

 

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

_From: Yuy, Heero_  
_To: Po, Sally  
_ _Subject: Mission Parameters_

_I am on the team.  Now.  Please confirm._

_H_

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

 

“Shit,” Sally hissed between her teeth.  She had little doubt which team Heero was referring to and felt her stomach plummet.  So it was Wufei.  She had hoped that it hadn’t been him tied to that chair.  Now she had another former Gundam pilot sitting in New York awaiting new orders.  

Turning her attention back to the approved operation plan, Sally hand wrote on the cover page, + _Heero Yuy, NYC Branch (sniper, close combat specialist)._  She then stood and walked the file back out to her assistant with a hurried, “Get this moving.  Note the addition to the team roster.”  The young man nodded and bolted out of the office, headed for the Director’s suite.

Sally returned to her desk and pulled up Heero’s email once more, typing in a quick reply.

 

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

_From: Po, Sally_  
_To: Yuy, Heero  
_ _Subject: RE: Mission Parameters_

_You are now.  Report to Mexico City TODAY.  You’ll meet the team there.  I’ll handle the paperwork (and any interference from above)._

_Sally_

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] In case anyone needs a refresher on the LAM!verse Preventers org chart, [see here](https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/111701399104/on-a-scale-of-1-to-10-how-badly-do-i-not-want-to).


	5. Chapter 5

**Location Unknown  
** **Presumably Still Honduras  
** **Date Unknown**

They’d all taken rounds with The General, but Wufei suspected based on the superficial injuries the other agents had sustained thus far it was more psychological than anything.  He guessed the other agents’ sessions were being used to slowly sow discord, turn them against him.  Made sense, given the circumstances.

He was thankful for that.  He had at first thought they’d be used as pressure points against him or—worse yet—deemed unnecessary and summarily shot.  Instead they kept them all hydrated and fed just enough to avoid starvation and death.  

Except Wufei himself, that is.  The brick that had been used against him some time ago had fractured his jaw, judging from the swelling and agony every time he struggled to speak. The last few days had been unbearable, and solid food had been impossible.  Their captors had at least waited until the worst of the swelling had subsided until having another go at him.  He’d emerged the second round with black eyes, broken fingers, and—potentially—cracked ribs.  

As time wore on and the beatings continued, he began to wonder if he’d in fact reached the proverbial end of the line.   _ Everyone dies eventually.   _ Duo’s voice would echo in his head at these times as he struggled to sleep through the pain.   _ La Muerte always wins. _  But visions of  _ her  _ would dance behind his closed eyes and chase away the worst of it, and he could swear he could feel strands of blond hair between his damaged fingers…

The door to their stucco cell opened with a clang and the General’s second in command—who had orchestrated their capture—stepped inside.  Wufei had since learned the man’s name was Macklin, one of the General’s lone, loyal survivors from the attack that set this all into motion.  One of the post-conflict world’s angry young men.  Wufei found he could empathize...that is, until he started throwing punches.  The General himself rarely raised his hand during the interrogations, giving that honor to Macklin instead.  

“It’s that time again,  _ Agent _ ,” Macklin said, stressing the word as he always did when it was Wufei’s turn in the ring.  Some small part of Wufei that was tilting dangerously close to delirium had to wonder whether it was because he loathed his position in the Preventers or if he simply couldn’t pronounce his name with any certainty.  He’d had plenty of time to study their credentials while they’d been held, and yet Wufei couldn’t recall him ever attempting the syllables.  

“Give him a break,” one of the agents pleaded.

“He needs a doctor—” another urged.

Their entreaties fell on deaf ears, and Wufei pushed himself up slowly to his feet as two armed men entered the room and collected him, throwing a black hood over his head.  Unnecessary at this point—they’d hauled him back and forth often enough that he could walk the route unassisted.

Once more they took him to their interrogation room of choice.  Once more they dropped him into a chair in the middle of the empty space.  Once more they strapped him down.  Once more they removed the hood to reveal the General standing before him.

Wufei had had plenty of time to study the man’s grizzled face during their sessions in this room.  The old timer had thermal burns on his face, suggesting he was too close to a mobile suit when it blew.  What hair he did have was buzzed close to his scalp.  He was only ever dressed in the same fatigues as the rest of his men, but he carried himself as someone with tremendous authority, robbed of his position by some cruel act of fate.

No, not Fate.  The Gundam Zero Five.

The man pulled over a chair and sat down opposite of Wufei.  “Names,” he ordered.

“What names?” Wufei ground out.

The General sighed and nodded at Macklin.  The man raised a wooden rod, reared back, and swung.  It struck Wufei across the chest, sending new waves of agony through his body.  He groaned.   _ Get beyond it, through it.  Focus! _

The General leaned forward, clasping his hands before him.  “We’ve already established who you are, Zhang Wufei.  Pilot Oh-Five.  Murderer of  _ my  _ men and women in uniform.  And so many more—you were just getting started when you hit my base.  Now...I want the names of the other four.  

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he continued.  “The easy way is that you tell me and those Preventers can go slinking back home.  Or we can do this the hard way.  We’ll go through every single thread of your life after ‘95 and we will chase down every lead and we will find  _ everyone  _ you are close to.  And we’ll get the answers we want, eventually.  I can guarantee that.  You’re just delaying the inevitable.  It’ll take time, but time we’ve got it in spades now that the war is ‘behind us,’ as the politician rats say.  

“But it’s never really over; it never really ends, does it?” the General mused.  “Which is why you’re going to tell me those names.”

_ Fuck you. _  “I’m a Preventers agent,” Wufei hissed, “I’m conducting a field investigation under ESUN authority…” Another strike with the rod.  Wufei cried out and instantly loathed the weakness it betrayed.   _ Focus...focus...breathe… _

“Honestly Zhang,” the General sighed, as if he was arguing with a petulant child.  “How many more bones of yours do I need to break before you’ll give me four names?”

Wufei’s lips curled back in what he could only assume was a grotesque excuse for a grin.  “At least four more.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Reserva Biológica Tawahka  
** **Honduras  
** **207 March 7**

The EXFIL team had slowly crept through the foliage and hillsides, winding their way unseen through the terrain to avoid possible traps and contact with the enemy, after their pilot had dropped them far enough from the target that the sound of rotary wings wouldn’t draw unwanted attention.  Eventually, they reached the compound which the Preventers apparatus had deemed ‘of interest.’  There’d been no positive sign of their captured field agents...but the satellite imagery indicated a complex on high alert, if the number of armed guards were any indication. 

Heero had split off from the group upon approach, aiming to find a clear shot of the compound through the nature reserve’s lush greenery.  He now crouched in the branches of a tree, his rifle leveled at the building a solid 2.5 kilometers ahead [1] across a vast expanse of empty, exposed grass clearing.  Through the scope, he watched the movement of armed men around the compound, clearing a yard in the back of the facility.  One of the men strode across the distance between a wall that jutted out from the side of the building and a cluster of men on the other side of the clearing.  He pointed back at the wall and then gestured to the other men.  They fanned out into a line and began checking their magazines.  One raised his weapon at the wall briefly before lowering it once again.

_ Firing squad. _

“Shit,” Heero hissed, feeling tension coil through his body.  Over the closed comm channel, he reported back, “Activity in this quadrant suggests we’re running out of time, sir.”

“Hold your position,” the team lead’s voice murmured in his ear.  The rest of the EXFIL crew would be in their respective positions by now, Heero knew, crouched in the shadows and underbrush ready to pounce with guns blazing.  Waiting for an opening.  

Heero took a deep breath to calm fraying nerves.  He was out of practice with this sort of thing.  The stings he normally participated in as a field agent were quick and tactical and usually executed with the local SWAT force.  This...this was a different beast altogether.  This was a military operation.  It made him vaguely ill; but then he’d think of that damn video and Wufei and the feeling would fade.

He watched activity in the yard pick up once more.  Through a side door, two men dragged a prisoner into the yard.  The man stumbled, his right leg seeming to give him trouble.  Black hair brushed his shoulders and through the dried blood and angry bruises, Heero recognized Wufei.

“Fuck,” he cursed before calling back to the ground team, “Permission to engage.”

“Hold your fire.”

“Dammit, they’re going to kill him,” Heero snapped back, his finger already on the trigger.  2.5 kilometers suddenly felt impossibly far away as he watched the armed men shove Wufei up against the wall and retreat behind the line of guns.  

A pause followed.  Horrifically long.  Bated breath.  And then—“Engage! Engage!”

Heero fired his rifle three times.  Three of the men collapsed to the ground, their heads popping sideways in clouds of red.  In the confusion that followed, he took out two more.  One of the men ran forward and grabbed Wufei, hauling him in front as a shield, the barrel of a gun pressed to the agent’s temple.

Heero watched the man scream in his general direction, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger.

*****

Wufei watched from in front of the wall, stunned as shots rang out from the treeline and his would-be executors toppled like rag dolls.  Elsewhere in the complex, he could hear gunfire approaching, rebounding and ricocheting around the building to where they stood.

Macklin was upon him then, dragging him away from the support the wall had offered.  His arm wrapped painfully around Wufei’s neck to hold their bodies together, protecting his captor from whatever threat had besieged them across the wide swath of empty field that separated them from the treeline.

“You can’t do it!” Macklin was shouting, his face pressed close to Wufei’s temple.  “Not at this distance!  Not when I’ve got him!  You won’t take that sh–”

There was a crack and a sickening thud and Macklin’s arm went lax as he dropped away.  Wufei stared down at the corpse.  His harbinger of death was now just another body.  

He turned his eyes to the treeline.  “Heero?”

*****

“Run, you idiot!” Heero growled at the stunned man staring back at him through his sight.  As if he’d heard him across the distance that separated them, Wufei grabbed a handgun and one of the light machine guns which now lay discarded in the yard.  Now armed, he limped back into the compound.

“Zhang’s on the move,” Heero informed the rest of the team.  “He’s armed and back inside.  Try not to shoot him.”

“Roger that,” the team lead called back over the echo of gunfire that had enveloped the complex.  “We’ll see you soon.”

Heero slid from his perch in the tree and made his way toward the compound and into the fray.

*****

Wufei limped through the dim corridors with singular purpose: to get the others and get out.  Anyone who stood in his way—hobbled though he may have been with what he expected was a sordidly broken ankle—was only an obstacle for so long.  He dispatched two of their captors with the handgun as they rounded a corner toward him.  Another as he crossed a four-way intersection.  Into the battle, into the bloodshed again.

He drew up short and ducked into an empty room when he happened upon a cluster of his captors who had barricaded themselves at the other end of the hall.  Peering around the doorjamb, he saw they were exchanging fire with unseen assailants.  

_ EXFIL, _ he realized, ducking back into the room.  He threw the safety on the handgun and secured it with his belt [2] before taking up the machine gun.  Leaning back around the corner, he opened fire.  His captors were caught entirely off guard at the sudden change in the direction of the assault.  They went down quickly.  

Threat neutralized, he turned his attention back down the other end of the hall, ready to lay down suppressive fire as the Preventers extraction team approached from behind.  “Others in off-shoot of this,” he ground out to the agent who reached him first, the pain in his jaw flaring viciously as he did so.  “Dead-end on left.”  

The man nodded and gestured to the rest of the team which flowed around them like water.  To Wufei, he said, “We need to get you out of here.”

“Not without them,” Wufei argued back, checking his magazine before following the rest of the team.  He forced himself to move without the limp, his ankle screaming at him as he did so.  

They moved through the compound sowing death in their wake.  After twelve years, it felt alien and yet...and yet...the familiarity was singing in his blood. Some distant part of him was frightened by how damn good it felt to drive through the men who’d hurt him, hurt the others.   _It never really ends, does it?_  The General’s words echoed in his brain and Wufei could feel the sting of unshed tears in his eyes.   _No, it doesn’t.  It never ends, it’s never fucking over.  It will_ _never be fucking over._ The machine gun in his hands clicked and locked, signaling the end of his ammunition.  He slung it over his shoulder and switched back to Macklin’s handgun.

When they found their Preventer brethren, they found the General.  The man held them hostage with a self-rigged vest of explosives and his thumb hovering over the detonation button.   _ Self-destruct _ , Wufei thought as the EXFIL team pinwheeled backward and away from the door, the team lead already trying to talk the man down from the ledge he’d brought them onto.  

In a fit of madness and with assured steps, Wufei walked forward, rounded the corner into the room, and fired. 

The bullet tore through the General’s hand, knocking the device out of reach and harmless, which gave the rest of the exfiltration team the vital seconds to drive forward.  They pulled the captured agents out of harm’s way and subdued the General, who raged from his place on the floor while he clutched his bloodied hand.  His eyes met Wufei’s and the threat there was palpable across the small distance that separated them.

Wufei moved to raise the gun a second time, going numb.  But he was stopped by a gentle hand whose calloused fingers wrapped around his wrist.  Turning, he found Heero’s steady blue eyes on him.  He felt himself tumbling into the abyss as adrenaline rushed from his blood.  Distantly, he could hear rotary wings...and then the world started to fade...black…

*****

Heero trailed behind two of the EXFIL crew members as they moved Wufei, strapped to a stretcher, out of the clearing and onto the helo.  The rest of the rescued agents walked on, their wounds deemed superficial by the medic.  

As they boarded, there were two other helos approaching for a landing.  Heero watched them drop down beside their own bird, watching the shift from war zone to crime scene occur in real time.  It left him off-balance, part of him wondering if he’d imagined the smell of blood and cordite.

Turning away, he followed their medic to the back of the aircraft.  He then hovered as she conducted a cursory assessment of Wufei’s injuries, muttering to herself.  “Well?” he prompted when she didn’t acknowledge him or his silent, burning questions.

She quirked an eyebrow at his impatience but said, “Clinical opinion is he got the shit kicked out of him.  He’ll need surgery for the jaw and the ankle at the very least.  If we’re lucky, he’ll’ve avoided rupturing anything too important.  The bruising on his abdomen has me worried.”  She then watched him for a moment and Heero knew she could read the unease clearly on his face.  “We’ll get him stabilized at Tegucigalpa and then medivac him back up to New York for surgery.”

Heero considered this, watching her insert an IV even as the helo took off, her practiced fingers unaffected by the sudden change in their center of gravity.  As they lifted into the air, he had the odd feeling they had been joined by a silent, third party.  Glancing down at Wufei, he found the man’s bruised eyes still closed as if in sleep.  “Can I stay here with him?”

“Sure,” the medic replied.  “I’m going to go check on the others.  I’ll be back in a few.”

Heero watched her walk off.  After a moment, and over the dull rumbling of the helo around them, he heard the man on the stretcher say, “They knew.”

He looked down once more and found Wufei watching him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.  They were filled with some sense of urgency, but unfocused.   _ Drugs are working _ , Heero thought, his eyes darting to the IV.  “Knew what?”

“Who I was,” Wufei groaned, struggling to form the words through the morphine haze and busted jaw.  “ _ What  _ I was,” he added, sounding more insistent, “and soon...they’ll  _ all  _ know.”

Heero heard what went unspoken.  The frustration and fear and dejection in the face of the inevitable.   _ Gundam Pilot _ .  Heero wrapped his fingers around Wufei’s wrist.  The action had previously pulled the man from the brink, halting the apparent kingpin’s execution…and possibly handed Wufei a future of infamy.  Heero swallowed thickly, feeling Wufei’s pulse slow against his fingertips as the drugs pumped through his blood.  “Rest now.  We’ll deal with that later.  Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The longest sniper shot previously on record was 2.475 km, held by British soldier Corporal of Horse Craig Harrison in 2009; however, [in January 2017 it was reported](https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/canadian-elite-special-forces-sniper-sets-record-breaking-kill-shot-in-iraq/article35415651/) that a Canadian elite special forces sniper completed a 3.45 km shot.
> 
> [2] For the love of God, do not do this. Bad, bad gun safety!


	7. Chapter 7

**Relena Darlian’s Residence  
** **Brussels, Belgium  
** **207 March 8**

“You’re aware of the EXFIL out of Honduras, yes?”

It was an odd question to lead the call with.  Relena was tracking the outcomes of the mission, but more the ultimate impact than the finer details, as was most of her ilk.  Word of former Alliance remnants holing up in the jungles of Latin America tended to rile up the establishment.  

“Some,” she replied.  “Why do you ask?”  She waited but no answer came.  She almost worried the line had dropped—he wasn’t calling from home, but hadn’t said why not.  The realization set off alarm bells in her brain.  “Heero…?”

“Wufei was among the agents captured,” he said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact in a way that sent shivers down her back.  “He was helping the field team in Honduras when they were taken prisoner.”

All the air rushed out of her, leaving Relena dizzy, and she reached out and clutched a nearby shelf to steady herself.  Questions swirled in the maelstrom of her mind, too frantic for her to choose just one—

But Heero was speaking again.  “He’s safe.  He’s...recovering.”

“‘Recovering?’” she echoed, latching onto the word.  “What happened?  Is he...is he okay?”

“He will be, yes.  It’ll take some time, but he’s out of danger—”

“Can I see him?” The question came unbidden, surprising her as much as it did Heero, judging from the sudden silence that met the query.

“That may be...unwise.  For now.”

Relena bristled.  “What do you mean?”

She heard Heero sigh, sounding suddenly weary and...nervous.  It only worried her more.  “I can’t say much right now,” he told her.  “But...I think this is just the beginning.  It’s going to get a lot bigger.  You _cannot_ be tied to whatever is coming.  He wouldn’t want that, and neither would I.”

Relena felt ice form in her belly.  Swallowing against a suddenly parched throat, she whispered, “What’s ‘coming,’ Heero?”

A tense pause met her question.  And then, “I have to go,” before the call disconnected.


	8. Chapter 8

**Mount Sinai West  
** **New York, New York  
** **207 March 16**

Ostensibly, Duo was in New York laying the foundation for the President’s push for colonial independence with the ESUN delegates.  He had neglected to tell them all that one of his friends—more than that, really—had been extracted from Honduras and was recovering post-op in Manhattan.

Now he sat here at Wufei’s bedside as he had done every day since his arrival, and Duo wondered _why_ , why he hadn’t told his colleagues his real agenda.  He decided it had been something in Heero’s voice when he called to tell him that Wufei had been ‘recovered’ and they were relocating to New York for surgery.  The man’s words had come over the phone in a flat monotone that Duo thought he had long since forgotten.   _Like he used to be_ , Duo mused, his thoughts turning to his own omissions.   _Like I used to be._  His gaze then settled on Wufei’s still figure.   _How easy it is to slide backward into our old selves._  The thought made him shudder.

When Heero had called, the news had left Duo reeling...and agitated as he sought for a reasonable way to extract himself from his duties without drawing further attention to himself.  The work trip premise was an easy sell and an easy out.  Arriving at Heero and Wufei’s shared apartment unannounced had been...less so.  

Heero had nearly sent him packing immediately, at first refusing to even say where Wufei _was_ and then insisting that Duo stay out of the whole affair.  It had sent Duo’s blood boiling with such abandon it had startled both himself and Heero.  

“You _cannot_ be here,” Heero had told him for what felt like the millionth time.  It landed about as well on Duo’s ears as all the previous times.

“Enough, Heero.  Where is he?   _How_ is he?  And who fuckin’ says I can’t be here?” Duo had fumed back at him, electricity coursing through his limbs.

“Wufei says,” Heero insisted.

“An’ judgin’ by the fact ya avoided the firs’ two questions I’d say Fei was also high as a fuckin’ kite when he gave the order.”  Duo had watched the muscles in Heero’s jaw clench painfully, but those eyes were as stoic as they ever had been all those years ago.   _Jesus,_ **_come on_ ** _…_  Duo met that dark gaze with his own, undeterred.  Slowly, painfully slowly, careful not to let his accent slip a second time, he then had asked again, “Where is my friend, Heero?  What did they do to him?”  The words were ice on his tongue.

A bitter eternity stretched between them, toxic and painful.  And then a spiderweb crack had appeared in the facade, the wall that was Heero’s otherwise indomitable resolve crumbling.

Information acquired from his thoroughly reluctant companion, Duo had headed straight out the door to the hospital.  The first watch he’d taken by Wufei’s bedside had been agony.  He’d curled his hands into fists in his lap for lack of a decent wall to punch a hole though...or an enemy to decapitate.  

But the cab ride back to the apartment had cooled his blood and when he arrived, Duo had fled into Heero’s arms seeking solace and forgiveness for his missteps.  The fight and the sentry duty that had followed had left him feeling raw and hollow and...frightened.  It made him ill, and he could feel the aimless anger stirring in the shadows of his head.  He throttled it and buried it deep, if only so Heero wouldn’t see it.  

For the days that followed, he shuttled between the ESUN offices playing nice on behalf of the president, hospital visiting hours—only catching Wufei lucid about half the time—and the apartment with Heero, the two of them stumbling blindly through the maelstrom of emotions and the memories they raised up from the abyss.

Movement now caught Duo’s eye, drawing him back to the present, and the heart monitor’s steady beat spiked.  Wufei’s left hand fisted the bed sheets while the right came up to his face.  Trembling fingers brushed past his lips, the unbandaged digits probing against the silver wires that held his jaw shut.

“They’re still there,” Duo said.  “You didn’t imagine it.”

The comment earned him another spike from the heart monitor as Wufei’s eyes shot open and he turned his head to face him.  “How long?” he asked between clenched teeth and winced as if he suddenly regretted the question.

“I’ve been here a couple hours,” Duo supplied initially and then began to tick through other possibilities on his fingertips.  “You’ve been out cold for at least that long.  Heero tells me you’ll have the wiring for another three weeks or so, but your ankle will be wrapped up for longer.  Uh...you’ll be discharged tomorrow, but I’m leaving town tonight so figured I’d come by and see you one more time before I head back to Brussels.”  He paused and then grinned...a bit too widely, too brightly to be real.  “That about cover it?”

There was a near-imperceptible nod from Wufei but then his gaze turned inward and he looked away.  His chest rose and fell sharply in what looked to Duo like a desperate sigh.  

“Hey…” he reached out and rested his hand on Wufei’s arm, feeling the bicep twitch under his fingers.  “You’re out, man.  You’re going to be okay.”

“They knew who I was,” Wufei told him.  “They got to me.  They wanted to get to you.  And I wasn’t going to give you to them.”

At this, Wufei turned back to face him once more and Duo felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.  It had been a very long time since he’d seen eyes like that: coldly calculating and dangerous.  Duo forced himself to fight against his self-preservation and kept his hand where it was—he was convinced he could lose it if he made any sudden moves.   _Fuck me...the hell did they do to you…_  

The thought frightened and infuriated him in equal measure.  Duo leaned on humor to ease him through this revelation.  “But at least they didn’t break your nose,” he said, running a finger down the crooked bridge of his own.  “Clearly they thought your mug was ugly enough as it was, eh?”

After a breathless moment, the darkness that roiled in Wufei’s eyes faded and he gave Duo a tired, half-hearted smile.  He stretched his right arm across his chest and rested his hand over Duo’s.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Winner Family Compound  
** **L4-V05001  
** **207 March 17**

“I finally managed to get Heero to give me more than a dozen words at a time,” Quatre told Trowa, his phone clutched dangerously tight in his hand.  “He told me they knew.  That’s what started all of this.”  Quatre shook his head, unseen by the man on the other end of the line.  “They took the bastard alive too,” he added, “and who knows who else he’s told.”

“As a gentle reminder…” Trowa began, sounding to Quatre’s ears sympathetic to his vexation, “they’re Preventers.  They’re  _ supposed  _ to take their targets alive.  If the media’s to be believed, the team is under review for excessive use of force as it is.”

_ How tragic they missed one _ , Quatre thought darkly.  He paced the length of his study and sighed.  To Trowa he said, “I know.  I just…” Reaching the other side of the room, he spun on his heel and walked back across.  He ground his teeth in futile frustration as his words struggled to catch up with his thoughts.  “I wish I could get a round with the man who did this.”

“I know.  Me too.”

Quatre believed him; Trowa’s tone was flat and deadly serious.  Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and switched gears.  “I think Heero’s worried about this spilling over and painting big targets on our backs.  That would explain why he’s been trying to keep us at arm’s length.  But he’s clearly failed with Duo and I have half a mind to follow suit.”

“Careful,” Trowa cautioned, though the bite was missing.  “Heero usually has a good sense of these things.  At least where Wufei’s concerned.”

“I seem to recall you did as well,” Quatre reminded him and resumed his pacing, though his stride was longer, more calculated.  The gears in his head were still turning and hadn’t yet locked into place.  “What do you think?”

He heard Trowa sigh and the line was quiet for a time as the man presumably studied the question, turning it over and over in his head.  Finally he replied, “This is going to get...messy.  And loud.”

“You don’t think the Preventers would abandon him, do you?” he asked, refusing the thought.  “I can’t imagine Sally—”

"No I don’t,” Trowa corrected, “but I wouldn’t put it past Wufei to say, ‘Fuck it,’ and bring it all down around himself.”

Quatre snorted and ceased his pacing, crossing instead to the couch in the corner and taking a seat.  He sat back into the cushions and loosened his tie, grinning darkly.  “He never was one for subtlety.”  He worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before he said, “Okay.  So how do we save Wufei from himself without being implicated in the coming media fiasco?”

“He’ll need somewhere quiet, away from the mayhem, so he can focus on healing.  And a way to get there.”

“I can arrange that,” Quatre said, feeling as if they were coming to a worthwhile solution.  “Might I also suggest we send him with some company to keep him sane?”

Trowa laughed.  “That might be wise.  I’ll take that one for the team.”

This surprised Quatre.  “You sure?”

“I’ve come to terms with it being my lot in this life with you all.  I don’t mind.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Apartment #718  
** **New York, New York  
** **207 March 30**

“You don’t have to come,” Wufei told him, sounding mildly perturbed.  But then, Wufei was always mildly perturbed; the wires keeping his jaw locked shut only reinforced the matter.

Heero waved off the comment as he slipped into a pair of sneakers which had seen better days.  “Wufei, we live in a six-story walk-up and you’re on crutches.  I’m coming with you.”  He opened the apartment door and stepped aside, gesturing toward the hallway beyond.

“To the curb then,” Wufei conceded after a beat as he hobbled through the doorway, Heero closing and locking the apartment behind them.

“To the  _ appointment _ ,” Heero corrected.  Wufei turned to him, clearly intent on protesting, but Heero cut him off.  “The office can survive without either of us for a day.  I’m not leaving you to wrangle cabs on your own, there or back.”

The practicality of having a second set of hands overrode Wufei’s pride for the time being but he slipped into a morose silence.  Heero helped his roommate navigate the stairwell and the car he hailed to their curb.

In the weeks since his release, Wufei’s stubborn streak had returned with a vengeance, matched only by the stony silences.  But just beneath was a quietly simmering anger.   _ He’s in pain _ , Heero knew,  _ but it’s more than that.  He’s scared.  So he’s closing ranks. _

In hindsight, Heero perhaps hadn’t helped on the latter problem in the weeks since the EXFIL.  At first, between drugged stupors as they moved from Honduras to New York, Wufei had told him to keep the others away, to keep them unseen and untouched.  Neither of them knew what the captured general had told the Preventers agents, much less whether the information could be controlled.  And so Heero had called them all on a burner phone and given them the message.

Duo didn’t listen, of course.  He’d arrived furious from Europe, his anger only masking a deeper hurt and the two of them had had it out with each other.  The fight had struck Heero as a rather accurate manifestation of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.  He had judged it unwise to share his observation at the time and instead ceded defeat to the viciousness in Duo’s eyes.  The sight of it had brought back old, wartime memories which unnerved him.  Not because it was unfamiliar; far from it.  It only reaffirmed what he had long suspected: that  _ La Muerte _ was alive and well, if perhaps dormant until circumstances brought it up from the depths.  

The exchange with Duo had led to a deeper observation of Wufei during his recovery.  Traces of the angry young man he had once known were there and so Heero had redoubled his efforts to keep his friend from slipping over the brink. A balancing act—being attentive without being smothering—was established with surprising ease in the days and weeks that followed.

As they pulled up to the clinic, Heero paid the driver while Wufei swung open his passenger door and used his crutches to lever himself out of the vehicle.  The appointment was fairly quick, allowing Heero really only to loiter in the waiting area skimming through work messages on his mobile.  When Wufei reemerged sans wires, Heero prompted, “How’s it feel?”

“Odd,” the other man replied, looking thoughtful.  

They left the way they came, hailing a new cab for the road home.  Once settled in the back of the car, Heero turned his thoughts to their evening ahead.  “Now that the wires are off,” he began, glancing over at his roommate where he sat beside him in the back of the cab, “what do you want for dinner?”

“Now that solid food is an option, you mean,” Wufei murmured back.  He smirked for a moment but then the humor faded from his face.  “Ironically, I don’t have much of an appetite.”  Heero frowned but didn’t speak.  The silence stretched and Wufei shifted in his seat, uncertain.  Finally, he said, “Sally messaged me yesterday.  Said she couldn’t hold the PA Chief off any longer.”

_ Press conference _ .  Heero remembered there had been some off-hand comment about it following the rescued agents’ debrief.  He glanced at their driver, quickly deemed him low-threat, and asked, “Why not?”

“Apparently one of them let slip that it seemed I was of ‘particular interest.’  The usual suspects have been trying to determine what that means and the organization has been stonewalling them.”

“And now they want  _ you  _ to talk to them.”  Wufei nodded.  “What are you going to do?”

“What I’m told,” Wufei replied at first, but then amended, “within reason.”

Heero considered this.  Wufei valued Sally’s opinion above all others— _ Well, almost all,  _ he realized, thinking of Relena—and if Sally said their time was up, it was true.

They lapsed into silence as the cab pulled up to their building.  They paid and thanked the man, heading for the stairs.  As they started the slow ascent, Heero asked, “When is this press conference supposed to be?”

“I don’t know,” Wufei sighed, sounding both frustrated and resigned, though whether it was with the subject of conversation or the staircase, Heero couldn’t tell.  “She said she’d confirm today, but I left my phone in the apartment.”

Heero smirked and shook his head as they rounded a corner and started in on the next flight.  “How unlike you,” he teased.

“It’s bad for my blood pressure, reading messages and being instructed not to respond.”

This time Heero laughed out loud.  “You’re  _ just now _ realizing that?”

Wufei fought a bitter smile of his own.  “No...but when a multi-trillionaire tells you to turn it off and take a nap, you’d be wise to listen to him.”

They climbed the final flight of stairs in a noticeably lighter mood, or so it seemed to Heero.  He once more held the door as Wufei entered the apartment, shutting it once they were both inside.  Heero watched as the man crossed to the kitchen table and swiped the forgotten cell phone from the wood surface.  A red light blinked insistently until Wufei unlocked the device and started scrolling through messages.  Heero meanwhile rounded the corner into the kitchen, intending to peruse the delivery menus that kept appearing from under their apartment door.

“Sonuvabitch.”

“Weren’t we just discussing your blood pressure?” Heero asked, grinning.  He glanced back, expecting a bemused look from his roommate.  Instead, Wufei stared down at the phone, his dark eyes burning into the screen.  An angry flush was starting to creep into his skin.  Heero’s good mood withered and died at the sight, and he moved quickly to join Wufei at the table.  “What is it?” he asked.

In lieu of an answer, Wufei took a seat and waved Heero down to do the same while he dialed a saved number.  As Heero sat down, Wufei enabled the speakerphone and set the device on the table between them.  The phone rang twice before the other side picked up.

“Sally Po.”

“April 6th?” Wufei launched into her.   _ “Really?” _

“Wow, you’re articulate today,” Sally noted, “clearly the wires are off.  And hello to you too, Wufei.”

“Sally–”

“Am I on speaker phone?” She asked, interrupting him.

Wufei’s eyes darted to Heero and then back to the device.  Almost sheepishly, he replied, “Heero’s here.”

“Hi Heero,” the woman greeted.

“Hi Sally,” Heero echoed.

“Sally,” Wufei began again, indignation mounting as he spoke, “why is this press conference—which I’m being strong-armed into doing anyway—scheduled for April 6th, the fucking launch date?” [1]

They heard her sigh and waited while she presumably gathered her thoughts.  When she spoke next, it was clear she was talking around the matter at hand.  “I wanted you to know that...all options are on the table.  As far as transparency goes.  Une’s got a messaging strategy that we can dust off somewhere around here, that much I’m sure of.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means I approve whatever course of action you decide to take when responding to queries.  We will all weather what comes afterward together.  Because you’re a Preventers agent, you’re one of ours.  And you have a larger, more loyal support base than I think you realize.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] April 6, 195 = launch date for Operation Meteor, according to [this handy dandy timeline](http://aboutgundamwing.com/timeline.htm).


	11. Chapter 11

**NYC Preventers Branch  
** **New York, New York  
** **207 April 6**

The Preventers Press Affairs Chief, a middle-aged man named Paul something-or-other, explained procedure.  Wufei supposed it was because the man assumed, correctly, that he was not really paying attention.  In truth, Wufei was fixated on trying to determine the source of the man's high voltage energy. The PA Chief was like a live wire, sparking whenever he came into contact with conductive material...which, for the time being, was Wufei himself.

And then Paul asked, “Ready?”

Wufei nodded and stood, using his crutches to hobble out of the Branch’s small green room. Paul’s assistant—or deputy, Wufei wasn't sure— met them in the hallway. The woman was younger than Wufei, though he suspected not by much. He tried to focus on her calm as she led them into the press hall. As they entered, the dull throb of voices dropped off to a low hum.

Wufei crossed to the table which had been set on the low dias in lieu of a podium and took a seat. Once settled, the woman passed him a small binder with HQ-approved talking points in exchange for his crutches and then faded into the sidelines.

Paul took the seat beside him and addressed the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” he began, and proceeded to set the rules of engagement yet again, this time for the reporters.

Wufei used the time to scan the small sea of faces and found curiosity and intrigue. But not hostility. _Not yet._ In the back of the room, Heero hovered by the door, silent and unnoticed by the crowd. He was the only NYC Branch officer present—the rest of their team would be watching the live feed from their conference room several stories above.

After the call with Sally, he and Heero had discussed contingencies and parameters. In the end, however, Heero had deferred to his best judgment. It was a responsibility Wufei was not sure he was ready to carry.

_No time like the present,_ he thought as Paul turned over the floor to him. He briefed the crowd with cold precision, feeling somewhat detached as he described the events in Honduras. The approved script which lay in the binder on the table before him had been sanitized just enough to avoid accusations of a cover up by redaction.

Once he was done, Paul opened the floor for questions. “Rohama,” he said, pointing to a woman near the front, “you had questions in reserve last time we did this, so I'll give you the floor first.”

The reporter offered Paul a steely smile before turning her dark eyes fully on Wufei. “Agent Zhang,” she began and Wufei felt the involuntary twitch of an eyebrow as the woman pronounced his name correctly. _Careful with this one._ “Your brief mirrors what other members of the team have previously described—”

Wufei couldn't resist. “Good to know we at least kept our stories straight.”

The woman gave him a thin smile while her eyes glinted, as if alighting on something otherwise unseen. “...But you've glossed over a detail which the other agents were more candid about; that being that the man presently in Preventers custody seemed to take—I quote—‘particular interest’ in you. And despite this ‘interest,’ you were also hailed as the calmest one in the room. What's more, you also reportedly disarmed this man and enabled the team's ultimate rescue.”

Beside him, Paul shifted uncomfortably. “Your question…”

“My _question_ ,” the reporter concluded, “is simply ‘why?’ Why were you more prepared for what happened than your cohort? What made you so uniquely able to respond to the real danger this man and his followers put you and the other agents in?”

_And there it is. First one out of the gate._  Wufei let his eyes drift from the reporter to Heero at the back of the room while he mulled over his reply. An unspoken message passed between him and his roommate over the heads of the assembled press corps. Heero gave a nearly imperceptible nod in acknowledgement and turned toward the door.   _Here we go..._

*****

Heero caught the look Wufei shot him from across the room.  He knew what it meant.  Turning, he hastily retreated to the door at the back of the room, withdrawing his cell phone and dialing a familiar number as he departed.  

Quatre answered just as the door to the conference room shut behind Heero.  “Yes?”  He sounded tense to Heero’s ear.

“You’re watching.”  It wasn’t a question.

“He’s going to tell them.” A data relay.  Strictly business.  Mission brief.

“What’s the plan?” Heero asked, gears turning in his head.  “I think we’re going to need to get him off the grid for a bit…”

“Trowa and I talked,” Quatre began.  “Here’s our proposal…”

*****

Wufei watched Heero leave the room before dropping his eyes to the table.  He felt something dark and angry shifting in his belly.   _I’m...tired,_ he realized.  He was _tired_ of hiding and second guessing and dreading the day they would figure it all out.   _Fucking done._  He clung to that dark thing and leaned forward to the microphone.

“The _official_ answer to that question, which is written in this binder I have here,” he lifted the edge of the binder the PA Chief’s subordinate had given him off the table so that the reporters could see it before unceremoniously letting it fall back to the table, “is that all agents undergo basic training for these contingencies. ‘How to escape capture and survive 101,’ to be glib.  Those who are actively put in harm’s way—our INFIL and EXFIL teams for instance—have a more robust training program.

“However.  The… _unofficial_ answer is that I ran into their kind in ‘95.  I wasn’t intimidated then and I’m not about to be intimidated now.”  A wave of hands shot up into the air as several reporters clamored for clarification.  He felt Paul's eyes drilling holes in the side of his head from where he sat beside him.  Wufei smirked, undeterred, and ignored the shock that rolled off of the other man.  “I figured that would cause a reaction.  You ready?”  

He took a deep breath and then pressed ahead, “When I was 14 I joined the Colony Liberation Organization after my home was attacked by an Alliance space unit.  I conducted some small scale attacks as part of my training, but in truth most of my time was spent in mobile suit simulators.  

“This is because throughout AC 195 and 196 I was known to the general populace only as Gundam Zero Five.  I piloted Né Zhā [1] until I joined Preventers in early 197.  The rest of my career is well-documented from then on.

“I’m telling you this,” he continued, “because although the suit is gone, I’m still here.  And despite my best efforts to...assimilate to this post-conflict world, I’ve never really been able to escape it, to shake this shroud off of me.  And apparently I’m not the only one.  I know why they went after me because they _told me_ , and...I understood.  I knew there’d be no hiding from this anymore.  Not for me at least.”  A pause.  “Other questions?”

Bedlam.  Primary story forgotten, utter chaos erupted throughout the room and questions came rapid-fire, like bullets from a machine gun.

“Did former Director Une know about your past actions and allegiances?”

“My joining Preventers was reported to the Oversight Committee along with every other former combatant across the organization.  That’s a matter of public record.  You can talk to the ESUN about getting a copy if you’re that interested.”

“Did the New York Branch know?”

“Doubtful,” Wufei answered.  “It’s not like I advertised the matter.”

“Why did you join the Preventers to begin with?”

“I imagine for the same reason everyone else did.  We got tired of killing each other and wanted to try saving people instead, protecting the peace we managed to cobble together.”

“Can you tell us the identities of the other pilots?”

“Uh, no,” Wufei told the reporter flatly.

“Are they also affiliated with Preventers?”

“I’m not able to answer that, seeing as I don’t have access to payroll,” Wufei evaded.

“What do you plan to do now?”

Wufei peered down at the man who’d asked the question.  He didn’t like the insinuation.  It sounded too much like his own doubts.  “Return to work as soon as I’m cleared to do so.  Medical leave is rather dull.”

Paul took the smattering of laughter that followed this answer to hastily close the press conference, much to the reporters’ apparent chagrin judging from the groans emanating from the audience.  Meanwhile, the PA Chief’s second-in-command returned to the dias with Wufei’s crutches.  He noted that she deftly inserted herself between him and the rest of the crowd so he could hobble away from the scene before the press corps could pounce him in his injured state.  Wufei smirked the whole way past the hidden green room and onward to the elevators.  Heero was waiting and Wufei allowed himself to ease up on the death grip he’d had on the darkness coiling in his belly.

“Ride’s waiting,” Heero said, jamming his finger against the button, calling a car to take them straight to the garage.  

Wufei nodded and had the decency to look penitent when the Paul reappeared, rounding the corner with fire in his eyes.  “What the _hell_ was _that?_ ” the man hissed between clenched teeth.

“The truth,” Wufei replied.

“‘The truth’ he says,” the man groaned.  “You just made my life hell.  You made my team’s life hell.  Jesus, we will hear nothing except this for weeks to come.  The whole office is going to come to a screeching halt while we play interference over whether or not we were harboring terrorists…”

Wufei let the man ramble, not really listening.  He caught the eyes of the PA Chief’s second, who hovered just outside of the bubble of her boss’s stray voltage, impossibly calm.  She gave him subtle hints of a smile and he caught the look in her eyes.  Years ago he would have dismissed it entirely, a figment of his imagination.  He’d grown to know better.  Solidarity.  The sight of it settled his fraying nerves and he returned the sentiment with his own ghost of a smile.  When the elevator _dinged_ , she silently stuck a hand along the side to hold the doors open as he entered.

The PA Chief was not quite through with his tirade, however.  “Agent!” he exclaimed, following Wufei part-way into the elevator, coming dangerously close to knocking Wufei’s crutches out from under him as he closed in.  “How do you recommend I explain all of this?”

Before Wufei could reply, Heero piped up from beside him.  “I’m sure there’s a messaging strategy you can dust off at Headquarters.”

The PA Chief turned to this newcomer as if he had appeared miraculously before him.  “Who the hell are you?”

Heero took half a step forward, said only, “His wingman,” and pushed the man back out of the elevator car.

Wide-eyed and confused, Paul stumbled backwards.  Wufei watched as disparate puzzle pieces seemed to lock into place and utter terror crossed the PA Chief’s face.  “What do you mean by–?”

But the doors shut before he could come at them a second time.  Wufei closed his eyes and leaned back against the elevator door, the metal cool to the touch.  His ankle was beginning to ache again.  “Now what?”

When Heero spoke, he sounded apologetic.  “Well...we can’t go home.  Someone in that room has already called HR and found out where you live, that much is certain.”

“So...safehouse.”

“More like the Winner and Yuy Witness Protection Program.”

Wufei snorted at the thought, but then sobered.  “I’ve implicated you.”

“You didn’t,” Heero argued.

Wufei chanced a glance at him and was surprised to see the man looking at him with some confusion.  And perhaps a bit of amusement.  “You’re guilty by association now at the very least,” he clarified.  “I’m sorry to have brought you into this.”

Heero shrugged and turned away.  “What was that Sally said?  We’ll weather this together…?”

Wufei turned his eyes to the ground, feeling an ache bloom in his chest.  “Thank you,” he murmured.

A beat.  “Of course.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 哪吒 Né Zhā, aka ‘Nataku.’ In our cursory research, it doesn’t look like anyone refers to the Gundam in the series as Shenglong or Altron (and in Episode Zero, Wufei actually says Shenlong isn’t the Gundam’s name). He certainly doesn’t refer to it as anything but ‘Nataku’ in the show or Endless Waltz, so...there ya go.


	12. Chapter 12

**President’s Suite  
** **Brussels, Belgium  
** **207 April 7**

A black, standard-issue tablet dropped from somewhere above down onto Duo’s desk with an unceremonious thud.  “Fuck!” he cursed, jumping in his seat and narrowly avoiding a lap full of coffee.  His eyes shot up to the smirking face of Analyn Mendoza, their Chief of Staff.  

The woman leaned forward and tapped the screen of the device.  “Read that,” she instructed, and stood upright once more, her hand perched on her hip as she waited.

Confused, Duo turned to the tablet to find the screen now displayed the front page of one of the international papers they tracked daily.  The leading headline read only,  _ ‘Gundam 05 Confirmed,’  _ but nestled just below was a photo of Wufei addressing some unseen multitude in New York.  

“Oh shit,” Duo sputtered.

Mendoza laughed darkly.  “That’s the most succinct response to this entire sordid ordeal to date, I think.”  She tapped him on the shoulder and motioned to the back of the suite.  “Staff meeting.  Read on the way.”

Duo grabbed the tablet, a notebook, and a pen. He followed the Chief of Staff into the large office as other members of the team filed in behind him.  President Michael Reuson had returned from travel only the day prior.  The man looked world-weary.  Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he seemed to have yet to put on his jacket.  While the staff went around the room updating Reuson about various issues they were working, Duo caught the man stifling a jetlag-induced yawn.

However, he perked up when the Chief of Staff raised the question of the Gundam Pilot.

“We need to come out with a statement,” Mendoza said, directing the assembled group toward actionable items.  “Every damn faction is coming out of the woodwork, and many of them are out for blood.  This will distract from our initiatives and our narrative regarding colonial independence unless we can get it back in the PR box.”

“Isn’t this a Preventers issue?” the deputy communications director piped up from the corner.  “Can’t we kick it to them for appropriate action?”

“They’re the ones that let it out of the box in the first place,” Mendoza replied, shaking her head.  “They’ve been leaning on ESUN regulations to cover their asses since the news broke.”

“How so?” Reuson asked, crossing his arms over his chest while his eyes dropped to the floor, contemplating the patterns in the hardwood underfoot.

“The Preventers organization reports their staffing to the ESUN’s Oversight Committee,” Duo answered.  “Past affiliations of all new entrants are accounted for and new personnel are shuffled accordingly to avoid internal strife once they’re at headquarters or in the field.”

“ _ Except… _ ” Mendoza clarified, “most colonial affiliates are only listed as such.  There’s no designation of who was with what group.  So in the case of this...Agent Zhang, it’s on record that he was a colonial combatant, but not with  _ who _ .  ESUN reps are already chomping at the bit to start a full audit, which of course gets the colonial reps defensive, which means...”

“Which means no one is able to focus on the real work ahead of us,” Reuson concluded as his Chief of Staff trailed off.  

“I thought it was rather brave.”  A dozen eyes turned to the intern who hovered near the door.  The young man fidgeted only a moment under the combined attention before clearing his throat and continuing.  “I mean...he had to have known there would be fallout, you know?  And he did it anyway.  Because it was the honorable thing to do.”

“What, to throw a wrench in reconciliation?” their communications director asked with a laugh.

The youth shook his head.  “To tell the truth.  Regardless of the consequences.”

Duo grinned.  Jabbing a finger at the kid, he turned to Mendoza and said, “Oh, I like this one.”

The Chief of Staff shook her head with a long-suffering sigh.  “Be that as it may, the announcement  _ has  _ caused a backlash.  The Gundams were viewed by any number of groups as enemies for much of AC 195.  One could argue a solid case to disassociate with him.”

_ I like that a lot less _ , Duo mused feeling his grin falter and his expression slide into some semblance of neutrality once more.  

“I also seem to recall the Gundams destroying  _ Libra  _ before it could crash into Earth and destroy life on this planet as we know it,” the president replied.  He paused and let his comment bring forth memories from around the room.  

Pushing away from his desk, Reuson continued, “I will not condone any course of action or public statement which throws this young man to the wolves.  He’s a Preventer, regardless of his past affiliations.  Therefore he is one of ours.  He has spent the last twelve years in the service of the ESUN and the Earth Sphere’s populace.  He has put his life on the line and has suffered for it.  We will not repay that dedication and sacrifice with betrayal.”  To his press team, he ordered, “Figure it out.  Get me a plan in an hour.  The rest of you...we’ve got other work to do.”

Mission parameters set, the staff began to disperse and head to the door.  “Duo, hang back a minute.  I wanted to ask you some questions about your March trip.”

Duo felt his stomach drop as he turned on his heel to face his boss.  

Off to the side, Mendoza informed the president, “I’ve pushed his full report to your account while you were away.  I can resend it if you’d like.”

“I read it, thank you.”

The Chief of Staff hesitated.  Her dark eyes bounced from the president to Duo and back again.  “Should I…?”

Reuson offered her a warm smile and waved off her concern.  “No it’s alright, Analyn.  Go get our team moving.  I know you and Duo have already gone over all of this.  It just helps me to talk through it after being out of the office, you know?”  

This seemed to reassure the woman.  She smiled and nodded, leaving the president’s office and closing the door behind her.

After a moment of silence which held all the tension in the world, or so it seemed to Duo, Reuson asked, “Did you know him?”

_ Oh fuck me. _  “Sir?”

“Papers are saying Oh-Five has been serving as the New York Deputy Branch Chief for a couple years now.”  Reuson let that information settle between them for a moment. Then his gaze turned inward, thoughtful, as he asked, “Isn’t your boyfriend stationed in New York?  He knows him I’m sure.”

“Yeah, probably,” Duo replied, feeling his mouth go dry as he edged past the truth.  Reuson watched him in silence for a time.  It felt like an eternity.  Duo focused on pressing both feet solidly into the floorboards to avoid sprinting for a window to jump out of.   _ Shit, shit, shit… _

“I looked into your credentials before I pulled you onto the team.  Everyone I spoke to, Renilde Une and Relena Darlian in particular, gave glowing commendations.  But they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell me what you had done  _ before  _ you joined the Preventers.”

Duo winced. “Sir—”

Reuson pressed ahead.  “Which leads me to ask...what makes you tick, Duo?  Why did you join the Preventers, the ESUN, my team?  Certainly there’s no notoriety in being the man behind the curtain, no gratitude for your service beyond a small cluster of the Earth Sphere’s populace.”

Duo dropped his eyes to the floor and considered the questions.  This hadn’t been how he’d expected the conversation to unfold.  He’d expected the man to corner him, niceties be damned.  This unfolding of motivations was too...kind for his comfort.  But as his thoughts turned, realization dawned.   _ Plausible deniability.  Reinforce motive, but give nothing away. _

Looking up at his boss once more, Duo gave what he hoped was a disarming smile and said, “I’ve seen some pretty horrible things, sir.  I wanted a piece of the future that we all bled for.  I wanted to build something better.  And...ya know...if I could knock down a few of these bigoted assholes along the way, well…added benefit, I’d say.”

The answer seemed to suffice.  “That’s good to hear,” Reuson replied with a smile of his own.  They shared another moment of silence, one which Duo found infinitely more relaxed.  At last, the president said, “Right, so.  Your March trip.  What do you think our prospects are for getting independence on the agenda?”


	13. Chapter 13

**NU Solutions Ltd.  
** **Brussels, Belgium  
** **207 April 8**

“If I have to field one more query about whether or not I knew I had Gundam pilots within my Preventer ranks, I’m going to issue a statement,” Une fumed, pacing the length of the small corporate suite.

Noin snorted at the thought from her seat at her desk not far away, but humored the other woman.  “May not be a bad idea, you know…”  They’d started screening their calls since The Press Conference That Everyone Watched, which hadn’t been good for building a reputation for ‘responsiveness’ with their select client pool.  It had become a bit of a sore spot for her business partner.

“Oh, it would be pithy, too: ‘Of course I fucking knew.  Why the fuck do you think I hired him?’”

Noin did laugh at this.  “Yeah...maybe...maybe that’s  _ not  _ the best communications strategy.”

“Too bad I left the good one under lock and key at Headquarters.  At least Sally’s put it to good use...”  Une slipped into silence as she crossed to the suite’s large window to look out across Brussels. Noin watched her from her seat at her desk.  Une had  _ that look _ .  The one that usually meant the storm was brewing and she’d be wise to get inside in a hurry.  “You know why he did it, of course.”

“Because if it’s out in the open, it can’t be used against you,” Noin replied.

“Well, there’s that.  But that’s not  _ why _ .  Not for him.”

Noin leaned back in her desk chair, and crossed an ankle over her knee.  “Then why?”

“Because Zhang Wufei is an agent of action.  And change.  He has no patience for hiding.”

Noin considered this for a time.  “It almost sounds like you admire him,” she observed, lacing her long fingers together and cradling the back of her head to look up at the ceiling.  “I have to admit,” she began, feeling Une’s gaze drift to her, “I’m having a difficult time reconciling the man you know and the... _ boy  _ I remember.  

“I’ve made my peace with the conflict, with everything that came before Mars.  But it’s as if…” Noin shook her head and resented the bitterness, the weakness that seemed to have crept into her bones.  “Nevermind.”

“Lu…”  Noin looked up as Une approached, pulling over her own desk chair to sit nearby.  There was a kindness in those brown eyes, something which would have been nearly unfathomable a decade prior.  Noin wondered how much Sally’s influence had to do with that. “What’s wrong?” Une asked.

Noin worried her lip between her teeth, eventually relenting with a sigh.  “I feel as if I’ve lost the script.  And the actors are the same, but the roles have all changed while I was outside.  It’s disorienting to say the least.”

“It gets better with time,” Une told her.

Noin almost asked her how she knew and instantly thought better of it.  In truth the sight of Une’s startling compassion only made her heart ache more.   _ I feel…adrift _ , Noin realized.  She had felt much the same on Mars when she came to terms with her own unhappiness, when she told Zechs she was leaving, when she boarded the cargo ship that would take her home to Earth.  Save for the brief respites among friends and colleagues, she was still unable to shake the sense of coming unmoored. 

At last, she put a brave face on and told Une, “I guess I’ll just have to learn the new role.  I’ll get there.”

Une saw straight through her, judging from the sour look she gave her.  Standing, she said only, “Yes, keep at it.  And when your coping mechanisms start to feel insufficient or unhealthy, let me know.  I have an excellent psychologist on speed dial.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Executive Hangar  
** **LaGuardia Airport  
** **207 April 9**

Iria Winner stood at the base of the roll-away staircase which led up into the body of a sleek, private jet.  She clutched the curved wooden handle of a black umbrella in one hand, tutting the spike on the other end against the tarmac underfoot.  As she did so, she watched a nondescript sedan pull up to the tie-down at the private hangar at LaGuardia this gray day in New York.  As the car drew to a stop not far from where she stood, she reflected on how she’d been wrapped up in all of this.

It was Quatre’s fault.  He’d called her only a few days ago and in an uncharacteristically blunt fashion had asked her to take a leave of absence.

Not ‘if’ she could, mind you.  The question was rhetorical.

“Quatre, I can’t exactly up and leave,” she had told him at the time, already dreading what the hospital director would have to say about it.

“Consider it a family affair.”

“Oh really?” she had challenged, recognizing the evasion for what it was.  “And who, pray tell, would I be playing doctor for?”

“My brother.”

The reply had at first confused her, and then her thoughts spun to the media uproar that had taken the Earth Sphere by storm.  A Gundam pilot had been identified.  By his own volition, no less.  The world was reeling, and every damn person seemed to have an opinion on the matter.

Turning her attention back to Quatre, she had asked, “Where?  I’ll need to travel, I assume?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Quatre assured her.  “I just need you to get to New York in two days.”

“Two days?  Quatre—!”

“Consider it an _urgent_ family affair.”  Then, more gently, “Please Iria.  I need your help.  And so does he.”  For the briefest moment, she had a glimmer of a much younger man.  

And so she’d become an accomplice to the conspiracy yet again, only this time she’d get to meet the others.   _Some of them at least,_ she reflected, watching as two men stepped out of the now parked sedan.  Well... _one_ stepped out, then strode around the car and pulled a duffel bag from the back seat.  The other _climbed_ out, his crutches used for leverage.  Zhang Wufei.  Pilot Zero Five.   _Cameras didn’t do him justice_ , she thought, pressing her lips into a thin line to avoid the playful grin.  He was attractive, with dark eyes that now studied her with transparent suspicion.  Even hobbled he carried himself with scholarly poise and pride, something which she appreciated.  

As Wufei and his traveling companion approached, she outstretched a hand in greeting.  “Mr. Zhang, I’m Iria Winner,” she introduced herself.  He shifted his weight and took her offered hand.  “I was asked to provide for any medical care you may require in the coming weeks.”

“Asked...by Quatre.”  An observation, nothing more.

Iria nodded.  “He wanted to come himself, but...his responsibilities are keeping him close to home.”

“He said he’d call when you land,” said the man who’d arrived with Wufei.  

Iria turned to this other man with the intention to exchange introductions with him as well and then hesitated, feeling her good breeding strangled by something that felt like self-preservation.  Ice blue eyes under unruly brown hair.  They watched _everything_.  It unnerved her.  He stood close enough to Wufei to give her the impression that he was some kind of security detail.

_No...no, he’s one of them too._

Suppressing a shudder, Iria turned back to Wufei and offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile.  “By way of apology, Quatre did send a stand-in.”

“You?” Wufei asked, sounding dubious.

“Oh no,” she corrected shaking her head.  

“Him,” the other man said, nodding up the stairwell and drawing their eyes to the aircraft.

Trowa Barton hovered at the hatch, watching them.  In their brief time together this morning, Iria had determined the man was stoic but thoughtful.  If her brother was to be believed, he was also deeply kind.  A good quality for healing bodies.

Iria chanced a sidelong glance at her new charge and saw Wufei relax ever so slightly with this new addition to their merry band.   _Good_.  That was the idea, after all.  As Trowa strode toward them down the stairs, she studied the three of them, wondered at their thoughts, the things they wouldn’t say with her present.  

This last idea got her moving again just as Trowa came up beside her and took custody of the duffel bag from Wufei’s friend.  Checking her watch, she informed them, “We are scheduled for departure in twenty minutes.”  To Wufei, she added, “Say your goodbye-for-now’s.  In a few hours we’ll be on a different continent.”  


	15. Chapter 15

**Staff Suite, Disarmament and Verification Committee  
** **Brussels, Belgium  
** **207 April 21**

Relena watched the proceedings from the team’s office suite, curled in the corner of an old couch alongside other DV Committee professional staff.  The Preventers Director, flanked by key deputies—she had been pleasantly surprised to see Sally Po among them—fielded questions from a small army of ESUN Representatives.  Most were from the Preventers Oversight Committee, but some had had the gall to assume  _ their  _ “equities” were not given proper attention.  As the review wore on, she curled in on herself, as if she could protect herself from the litany of questions coming from the television.

This was a turning point; she felt it in her bones.  It all hinged on how the Preventers leadership responded to the pressure that was gradually dialing up as the minutes ticked by.   _ Audit _ .  Such a simple word gone so sour.  Since The Press Conference, the political world had fractured into dozens of pieces.  If stress and hardship revealed an individual’s true character, then discovering a Gundam Pilot alive and well and  _ working for them _ proved the world was as at war with itself as it ever had been.  

And when representatives  _ weren’t  _ calling for a full accounting and vetting of the Preventers Corps, they were using the diplomatic mayhem to lobby for a delay to the President’s colonial independence vote.  ‘More time’ had been the rallying call for the latter, as it had been since ‘96.  Always ‘more time’ to fully assess the impact and implementation.  Nevermind the hundreds of independent studies the ESUN itself had commissioned, which quite clearly laid out the way ahead (to include how not to crash the global economy while they were at it).  

She had attended one general session the week prior on that very topic and had caught a glimpse of Duo Maxwell in the President’s box.  The air around him practically hummed with angry energy and she had wondered idly when he had learned to bite his tongue on something so important.  The sight had set her on a crusade behind the scenes with her fellow staffers to drum up support, though how successful they had been was yet to be seen.

In the end, it meant long hours in the office and a worrisome silence from her friends.  Especially  _ him. _  As it was, it had been a month and a half since she had heard anything from Wufei.  She recognized the radio silence—not just from him, but the others too—as the barricade it was intended to be.  She didn’t want to be outside those walls; she wanted to help reinforce them.  And why she couldn’t, she didn’t know.  If she allowed herself to think too hard on it, she’d start to throb with an aimless anger...not unlike Duo, she recognized.  

Closing her eyes, she scrubbed at her face to dispel her dark thoughts and start anew.  It was then the dreaded question was asked: would Preventers consent to a full audit of their ranks.  Relena groaned, as did the half-dozen compatriots clustered around her.  Her hands slid down her face to clamp over her mouth and held her breath.

The answer came from off-camera.  “With all due respect, Sir, it’s not an audit but a witch hunt you’re after.”

Relena sat up straighter as the TV cameras panned away from the Director to refocus on a thoroughly frustrated Sally Po.  Before the assembled representatives could interject, the woman continued, “We were established to break down the very barriers which have re-appeared between us in recent weeks.  Additional efforts by the ESUN to drive division within the ranks solely for your own fractious leanings will  _ not  _ be tolerated.  By me, by my colleagues,  _ or  _ by the people out there in the field or behind a desk  _ right now _ keeping the peace.”

“Go get him, Sally,” Relena heard herself say.  

“We have a united front, ladies and gentlemen.  One organization built of countless painful memories and strife and heartache and hope which speaks with  _ one  _ voice.  And today we here at this table want you to understand that if you attempt to go forward with this...if you seek to divide us... _ you  _ will be undoing everything we have set out to do.”  Sally paused for a moment to let that sink in before adding, “I don’t know about you, Sir, but I wouldn’t want to go down in history as  _ That Guy _ .”

The representative in question turned to the Director.  “Your subordinate feels rather strongly about this matter, clearly.  Do you have anything to add?”

There was a brief pause as the Director studied the faces of the assembled representatives.  And then he smiled.  “Dr. Po speaks with the authority of nearly 2.5 million personnel beside and below her.  We have been faithfully transparent in our reporting and our mission.  We will not be complicit in the politicization of the Corps.  We will not repeat the mistakes of our past.  And I urge the representatives here and everyone watching to do the same.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 April 27**

Trowa sat in the small courtyard behind the Winner compound as the desert night rolled in, bringing a growing chill before it.  Some time ago the sun had crested the horizon beyond the olive trees that stretched beyond the property line.  He had snapped a few photos of the sunset with his new camera which he now cradled in his hands while he toyed with the settings.  He wasn’t sure how well he’d succeeded in capturing the brilliance of the sight.  Motorcycles and mobile suits were easy; inner demons less so; exposure times and glass lenses even less so.  

His circus cohort had pooled resources—likely at Cathy’s suggestion—to buy him the camera in recognition of his 1,200th show with the troupe since ‘96.  At the time, he had wondered aloud if perhaps this had been a subtle hint for him to find a new career, but they’d all insisted otherwise.  It made him wonder if it hadn’t been Enyonyam [1] who had seen him snapping pictures on his mobile during their sightseeing excursions over the years who had come up with the idea.

What had possessed him to bring it among his few personal items when he got the call to relocate to New York on the double from Quatre, he didn’t know.  Perhaps he’d thought he could use it to draw Wufei out of the fortress he had built up around himself.  Their days since arrival had been punctuated by physical therapy sessions under Iria’s patient supervision and meals passed largely in silence...when they were taken together at all. 

Wufei had all but disappeared into the halls of the compound, retreating physically as much as he had emotionally.  After a week of that, Trowa had interceded and established a new operating procedure: Wufei would stay in the common areas at mealtime, so that Iria could better monitor his caloric intake, and he would go outside once a day for at least an hour.  Wufei had begrudgingly acquiesced, but Trowa was confident the time in the shared space and sunlight had done the man some good, judging by the rate of his recovery.

They had removed his cast earlier today.  Over breakfast they had discussed the matter and Wufei had asked about the need for an x-ray beforehand.  He had sounded nervous about the prospect of heading into town.

“Oh no, we’ll do it here,” Iria had informed him.

“Here?”

“We have a fully equipped and operational medical bay here on site,” she had told him with a flip of her hand.  “We could do minor surgery here if the need arose.”

Trowa had schooled his features into something unreadable as he watched this news process behind Wufei’s dark eyes.  The man was clearly struggling to comprehend it.  “Why do you have a full med suite in what amounts to a family vacation home?” Wufei asked.

Trowa had promptly lost his faltering composure.  Two sets of eyes turned to him, curious.  “Come on, Wufei,” he had goaded.  “The question should be why  _ wouldn’t  _ you have a full med suite.  Stop thinking so plebeian.”  

This garnered a laugh from Iria, who flushed with self-deprecating amusement.  Wufei even cracked a faint smile, which Trowa found encouraging.  The cast came off shortly after the exchange, but Wufei was barred from putting his full weight on his right foot for another week at least.  

The rest of the day had passed without incident as they kept to their established patterns of behavior: Wufei read in the sheltered interior courtyard when he wasn’t doing his physical therapy exercises, Iria painted, Trowa toyed with his camera.  His compatriots had retired to their respective quarters after dinner—Iria out to the private guest lodgings set apart from the main house while Wufei made his way to the first floor master suite—while Trowa headed out into the approaching night to sit in the back yard.  

He was not sure how long he had been watching the stars emerge overhead, but his peace was broken by movement off to his left as the door to the house opened.  Looking up, he found Wufei standing barefoot just past the threshold, his eyes locked on the olive trees standing now just beyond the reach of the lights from the house.

“Wufei?” Trowa prompted.  The man did not reply, but his head tilted to the side as if he was straining to hear something in the distance.  It made the hair at the back of Trowa’s neck stand up on end.  Setting aside his camera, he slowly got to his feet and turned his eyes to the olive trees which Wufei continued to study.  “What is it?”

The other man did not acknowledge him, but strode forward paying no heed to his still healing ankle.  Trowa cursed under his breath and headed after him.  “Wufei,” he hissed under his breath, still fearing that perhaps the other man sensed some intruder he himself had missed.  As they reached the outskirts of orchard, Trowa closed the distance and grabbed Wufei’s wrist to halt his progression.  “Wufei,” he tried again, turning the man toward him, “what is it?”

It was only then that he registered the glazed look Wufei leveled at him.  Taking the man by the shoulders, Trowa steadied them both and tried again. “Wufei?  Hey…”

The other man blinked several times and with a subtle shake of his head, he seemed to return to himself.  Confusion. 

“Where were you going?” Trowa asked, hoping to prompt some explanation.

The confusion in those dark eyes faded, replaced by something infinitely more painful.  Frustration and disappointment and  _ fear _ .  Under his hands, Trowa felt Wufei start to shake, the trembling beginning somewhere in his chest and radiating outward.  A few seconds later, Wufei’s brain seemed to register the pain from his still-healing ankle and his right leg buckled. 

Trowa caught him, easing them both to the ground.  “What…?”

Wufei shook his head, his eyes screwed shut while one of his hands clamped tightly over his mouth.  His breath came harsh and fast. 

Bewildered, Trowa studied the man before him. After a time, he leaned forward to press their foreheads together and drew a hand up to wrap around the back of Wufei's neck.  “It’s okay, deep breaths,” he coaxed. 

“Please don’t tell her,” Wufei pleaded, sounding…unbearably sad. 

Trowa’s heart ached at the request and he found he couldn't quite bring himself to ask who ‘she’ was.  So instead, he sighed deeply and murmured, “Come on...let’s get you back inside.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Reminder: Enyonyam joined the circus troupe in AC 196 and taught Trowa how to perform with them.


	17. Chapter 17

**Winner Family Compound  
** **L4-V05001  
** **4 May 207**

Quatre sat opposite the video feed from Tunisia.  His sister and Trowa had squeezed in together before the camera on the other side.  Iria was leaving to return to the L4 cluster shortly; this would therefore be her last status report as their personal medic.  Her comments were strictly business...but beside her, Trowa was closed off, guarded.  It was Quatre’s opinion that that was never a good sign, but he waited for an opportunity to interject.

Just as Iria and Trowa had kept him and the others informed on Wufei’s recovery, he had kept them informed of the shifting political tides across the Earth Sphere.  The ESUN’s motion for an audit of the Preventers had failed, killed in a nail-biting finish with the surprise ‘no’ votes cast by the Americas.  Quatre suspected that Duo and Relena undoubtedly had had their hands busy behind the scenes to manage it, sentiment which Heero shared when they had last talked.  

But they weren’t out of the woods yet.  The President’s push to get a colonial independence vote on the docket for the coming year’s agenda was struggling.  Too many factions had split votes across the board to expect a majority ‘for.’

Unsurprisingly perhaps, the colonial populace was similarly divided.  L4 itself was torn between the conflicting desires to move forward, to embrace the right to self-determination that the Gundams had and still represented, and to disavow all acts of violence in the name of political ends.  The fact that the cluster had taken on the bulk of the L5 refugee population only made the situation more delicate.

It also meant that Quatre’s... _ conversations  _ with colleagues at the L4 Business Council had grown all the more contentious.  If he had to argue ethics with one more executive content to bury their head in the sand so long as it didn’t negatively impact their bottom line, he was going to launch WEI’s boardroom furniture out the window.

But his blood pressure was not what really mattered.  What mattered was getting Wufei well and  _ home _ .  And Quatre was to serve as the canary in the coal mine, just as Trowa was to be the watchdog against maladjustments, just as Heero was to set the stage for their friend’s eventual return to New York.

_ On that note… _  “So what do you think?  Regarding how close we are to a flight home?” Quatre asked the other two.

Iria sighed.  “Physically, he’s doing remarkably well because, unlike most of my patients, he actually does the exercises I give him.  I fully anticipate he’ll keep at it, even after I head home.”

“....But?” Quatre prompted, sensing something missing.

“But,” Iria continued, “I don’t think his physical health is what’s really at stake now.”

Arms still crossed over his chest, Trowa leaned toward the camera.  “He’s been doing regular calls with the Preventers’ head psychologist back at Headquarters.  And I’m here, of course.  But it’s not enough.”

Quatre’s brow furrowed at that.  “Why not?”

Trowa shrugged.  “If I had to guess, the shrink’s too clinical and I’m...me.  Which is proving to be yet another challenge.  Maybe I wasn’t the right pick.”

Quatre shook his head.  “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Because of who I am,” Trowa suggested.  “I’m a soldier, Quatre, and a brother in arms.  I can help get him through the worst of it and back on his feet, but I can’t help him deal with his demons.  He won’t let me.”

Quatre felt himself deflate.  Trowa, he had thought, was the best of them at this, at finding what ailed you inside and out and putting things to rights.  But perhaps he had misjudged the situation.  He worried the inside of his cheek between his teeth as he mulled this new information.  “Okay,” he sighed and then repeated, stronger, “Okay.  If not you, then who?”

Iria and Trowa exchanged a look.  When they turned back to Quatre, Trowa’s eyes had a glimmer of hope.  “I have an idea...but I don’t know if you’re going to like it.  And I know  _ he’s  _ going to  _ hate  _ it.”

Quatre smirked.  “Try me.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Duo Maxwell’s Apartment  
** **Brussels, Belgium  
** **207 May 13**

How Heero had managed to convince the Branch Chief that he needed some time away, he was still not entirely sure.  The NYC office had been controlled chaos since April and all hands were most assuredly on-deck, which meant the man’s unquestioning approval of his request for unseasonable leave was all the more suspect.  

Even so, Heero had booked the first flight out of the city as soon as the request had been approved, paranoia be damned.  

He had of course given Duo forewarning of his arrival, but the man had been too tied up in knots at the President’s Office to meet him at the airport.  Heero had therefore taken a meandering path through the city to Duo’s apartment.  It had been ages since he had last visited the beating heart of the ESUN.  Not too terribly much had changed since he had been stationed in Geneva.

_ Well, perhaps one thing _ , he mused to himself, glancing sidelong at the man sitting next to him on the small sofa as the evening grew late outside.  Duo’s thumbs flew over the keys of his mobile, bottle of Belgian beer all but forgotten on the coffee table before them.  “You can go into the office tomorrow if you need to, you know,” Heero gently reminded him.

Duo groaned and tossed the mobile onto the coffee table, exchanging the device with his forgotten beer and leaning back against the sofa cushions.  “No...you’re here.  You’re never  _ here _ .  And if I go in, I’ll never get back out again.”

Heero watched him take a long pull from the bottle in his hand and found he was at a loss for what to say.  A thought had taken root in his mind and he needed an honest opinion.  No better person to ask, he supposed, than the man who couldn’t tell a lie.  “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Duo said with a smirk.  After a beat, he eyed Heero with some curiosity and added, “Sure. What is it?”

“Am I acting different?”

Heero watched Duo’s brow furrow at the question.  “Why do you ask?”

_ So, yes. _  “The Chief gave me the week without question.  And I know I’ve.... _ aggravated  _ you any number of times over the last few months.”  Duo opened his mouth, presumably to object, but Heero pressed ahead before the other man could speak.  “More to the point, I  _ feel  _ different.  I would like to know if it’s manifesting in some particular way so that I can correct it.”

There was the briefest of pauses as Duo considered his reply.  In the end, he settled on, “What do you mean by ‘different?’  Is the static back?”

Heero shook his head.  “No...no, this is something else.”  He waited for Duo to answer his question; he did not.  Heero averted his eyes and took a steadying breath before continuing.  “I feel like I’ve woken something up.  And I’m—” he struggled with the right word and settled unsatisfactorily on, “—concerned that I won’t be able to put it to sleep again.  In 196 I swore I would never kill again, but…” Heero swallowed thickly.  “But I killed nearly a dozen men to get to Wufei.  Without a second thought; it was automatic.”

“You got him out.”

“I know,” Heero assured, chancing a glance at Duo and found his L2 Blue eyes studying him, his face unreadable.  “I would have made the same decisions, if I had to do it all over again.  That’s not what scares me.  What scares me is that I would’ve killed  _ hundreds _ ,  _ thousands _ to get to him.  I  _ would _ ...and what’s worse is that I  _ could _ .  Even now, all these years later.”

There was a heavy silence that stretched between them.  Heero suddenly registered that as he had spoken he had tugged his shirt sleeves down past his wrists and had started worrying the seam between his his fingertips.  An old tick resurfacing.  Clenching his teeth, he let the fabric slide away.

“How long have you felt like this?” came the question from the man beside him.

“Since we came back,” Heero admitted.  “I thought it had been an initial stress response, triggered by the EXFIL.  But I can’t shake it, even now.  If anything, it’s gotten worse since Wufei left for Tunisia.”

Duo was silent once more.  On the table, his mobile started to blink, alerting him of a new slew of messages.  Heero watched the red light for a time before turning his gaze on the man beside him.  He found Duo studying the middle space between them, his gaze unfocused.  

“Since ‘96,” Duo began at last, his voice low, “we’ve all been hurt at some point or another, but it was never because of who were.  Just shit luck.  We haven’t had to deal with how the world saw us.  Until now.  And we’re dealing  _ badly _ .”  He shook his head and set his beer on the coffee table, before shifting back again and draping a thin arm over the back of the sofa.  “We’re regressing.  Wufei wasted no time taking up his scorched earth approach to conflict.  You’re stuck in the void between comfortably numb and clinically efficient.”  The muscles in his jaw twitched before he added, “My swings are getting worse.  Work doesn’t exactly help.”

Heero watched shadows pass over Duo’s face and suppressed a shudder.  Drawing his legs up, he wrapped his arms around his knees.  “What do we do?”

Duo pressed his lips into a thin line as he mulled the question.  At last, he said, “A long time ago, the Preventers' Good Doctor [1] suggested that whenever I felt like doing something out of habit or instinct that I should try to do the opposite.  Retrain my brain, ya know?  By that logic...what is something our fifteen-year-old selves would never have dreamed of doing?”

“Something just for us,” Heero replied, “not for the mission or the cover story or the prime objective.”

“Something frivolous then,” Duo echoed, nodding.  He turned his head and met Heero’s eyes and offered a warm, genuine smile.  Heero felt the vice clenched around his ribs ease at the sight.  “Heero Yuy, will you go on a date with me tomorrow?”

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up in a grin of his own.  “To where?”

“Weeeellll,” Duo drawled, his arm dropping from the sofa cushions behind them to Heero’s shoulders.  He used the added leverage to pull himself flush against Heero’s left side.  The proximity was a sudden comfort, and Heero leaned into the touch.  “Breakfast first.  Then we should go check out the super cool dinosaur bones at the natural history museum.”

“Then mussels for lunch?” Heero suggested.

“And  _ frites _ .”

“And beer.”

“Then chocolate.”

“And waffles.”

“Fuck yeah,” Duo agreed with a laugh.  “Maybe chocolate  _ and  _ waffles at the  _ same time _ .”

Heero chuckled and rested his temple against the crown of Duo’s head.  “Only if we’re feeling adventurous.”  Duo only laughed in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Duo's pet name for the Preventers chief psychologist, Dr. Raquel Abana, [who we met way back in the day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5766829/chapters/13288579).


	19. Chapter 19

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 May 18**

Wufei had been on his way to the inner courtyard when voices drifted down the hallway from the main entryway as he passed.  Distracted, his brain had supplied ‘Iria’ as he registered a woman’s voice mingling with Trowa’s.

But Iria had departed more than a week ago.  The realization stalled his steps and he drew to a stop, straining to hear words concealed by distance.  Curiosity getting the better of him, he turned on his heel and backtracked down the hall.  Rounding a corner, he stopped suddenly, shocked stock-still.  

Relena Darlian stood in the entryway dressed in loose-fitted clothes for travel, a small suitcase resting by her feet.  At Wufei’s appearance, her eyes danced from Trowa to him, her gaze turning soft as a warm smile appeared on her lips.

Wufei felt a distant fire spark in his blood at the sight of her and he clenched his teeth against it.  Leveling his eyes on Trowa, he snapped, “She shouldn’t be here.”

Trowa opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to the punch.

“ **_She_ ** is here **_anyway_ ** ,” Relena answered, her words clipped and vicious.

Wufei turned back to find the warmth in Relena’s face gone, swallowed by a steely anger.  It masked a deeper hurt, judging by the flush that had crept into her cheeks.  Wufei hesitated, suddenly uncertain.  He could feel himself faltering under that clear blue gaze...and so he fled, back the way he had come, his footsteps echoing down the hall behind him.

 _Fuck_.  Wufei hissed between his teeth as he burst out into the compound’s center courtyard.  He swayed in the sudden bright light and closed his eyes against the sun.  Reaching up, he tangled his fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots while the dark strands hung loose about his shoulders.  “Fuck,” he cursed aloud, but the word trembled on his lips.  The sound sent a shock of anger through him and a strangled growl rumbled in his chest.

Behind him, there was the sound of a door swinging open, of someone moving toward him with measured strides.   _Trowa._  Wufei took a steadying breath before turning to face the man.  “She shouldn’t be here.”

“You’ve said as much,” came the bemused reply.  

“ _Why_ is she here?”

“To help,” Trowa told him.  Wufei snorted derisively and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest.  “She can, you know,” Trowa pressed on, “She’s tougher than you think.  She can handle it.”

“It’s not a matter of whether she _can_ handle it,” Wufei bit back, already feeling the fight abandoning him and resenting himself all the more because of it.  “She shouldn’t have to.  She shouldn’t be associated with any of this.  Or me.  Not on top of everything else she has to deal with just by doing her job at the ESUN.”

A moment of tense silence passed between them and Wufei lowered his eyes to study the courtyard’s tile underfoot.  Beautiful colors, baked in the desert sun for ages.  They whirled in intricate patterns that eerily mirrored his own spinning thoughts.

After a time, Trowa sighed and said, “You need to trust her.  She’s here because she wants to be, regardless of the risk.  And because you need her to be.”  

Wufei looked up, intent on arguing the point, but Trowa raised a hand to silence him once more.  

“You won’t want to.  I know you won’t.  You’re too damn proud to admit it.  But honestly, I don’t care about your pride,” Trowa told him, the last coming out in a dangerous hiss.  “I care about you getting _better_ .  In more ways than one.  That’s where _she_ comes in.

“One of the hardest lessons to learn…to _re-_ learn…is to rely on people, especially those you want to protect.  But _that woman_ —” he said, jabbing finger back toward the house, “—if the stories from Heero and Quatre are anything to go by, has never once _needed_ protection.  But you...right now.  In this moment.  Away from the mission and the prying eyes and the insufferable sense of duty that keeps your head on straight... _you might_.”

Wufei tried again to protest but found the words stuck in his throat.  He clenched his jaw, which ached in protest, and looked away.  In the silence that followed, Trowa took two long strides toward him and put both hands on his shoulders.  The pressure was reassuring and Wufei could feel himself nearly crumple beneath the kindness.

Perhaps sensing his fading resistance, Trowa spoke again, “It’s okay to be broken sometimes.”

“What if it’s not ‘sometimes?’” Wufei asked, his words a murmur.

“That’s why she’s here,” Trowa told him, his tone coaxing.  There was a heavy pause while he let Wufei mull this information and then Trowa patted him on the shoulder and began to withdraw back the way he came.  “She’s upstairs unpacking.  I’m relocating to the guesthouse since Iria’s gone.”  Pausing at the doorway, Trowa glanced over his shoulder.  “You two should get reacquainted,” he added with an encouraging smile and disappeared into the house.

Left alone in the courtyard, Wufei glanced up at second story.  The gossamer curtains were drawn in the master suite and although they did little to block the sun, he could not see inside.  He wondered if she had perhaps looked out and seen Trowa and him talking.  He hoped not.  With a sigh, he walked back into the house.  

His footsteps were ghosts as he moved through the house and up the main staircase.  Drawing close to the master suite, he heard a faint sniffling which turned his insides to jelly.  Ducking his head around the doorframe, he caught sight of Relena.  She hadn’t heard his approach down the hall and instead sat on the bed beside her open suitcase.  Her shoulders were hunched as if she’d been overcome by some unseen force and had had to rest under the onslaught.  As she sniffed, her breath hitched, and Wufei watched her hands wipe at her eyes and cheeks in frustration.

 _You asshole…_  Wufei swallowed thickly and retreated back the way he had come, only stopping when he had reached the halfway point down the stairs.  Turning, he started up again, this time consciously driving his weight into the floorboards which creaked under the added pressure.  He took measured strides toward the suite a second time, pausing outside the doorway and out of sight.  Raising a hand, he rapped his knuckles on the open door and waited.

“Yes?” The word struggled in Relena’s throat, but then stronger, “Come in.”

This time Wufei rounded the corner fully to stand in the doorway.  Relena now stood beside the bed as if she’d been interrupted as she unpacked, the flush around her eyes the only betrayal that that had not been the case moments before.  Something cracked in the stony facade at the sight of him at her door, as if she was preparing to weather some new hurt.

 _No, don’t.  I’m_ —  “I’m sorry,” he told her.  Under the weight of her gaze, he struggled to find the eloquence she deserved.  Failing, he opened his mouth to whatever would come.  “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you.”

“You didn’t exactly say it _to_ me,” she reminded him.

“No,” he admitted.  Unable to meet her eyes any longer, he dropped his head as he floundered.  “You...your presence startled me.  But that’s not an excuse.  I was...out of line and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” she told him.  And then, hesitantly, she confided, “They told me to come, that you needed me.  I didn’t think they wouldn’t tell you.  And I wanted to see you so much.  It was selfish of me to not ask beforehand, and for that _I_ apologize.”  She bit her lip before then asking, “Are you truly upset with me?  For being here?”

There was a hot flash of anger at the question.  But studying it over in his mind, Wufei knew she was the catalyst, the spark, not the target.  “Not _at_ you.   _For_ you, perhaps.”  He shifted on his feet, suddenly very aware of the distance that separated them.

“What do you mean ‘for’ me?”

Wufei clenched his teeth and raised his head to meet her eyes once more.  They were curious, but blessedly devoid of pain.  “This isn’t your burden.  These aren’t your demons to fight.  You shouldn’t be involved because you…” he faltered but took a breath and pressed on, “you shouldn’t have to carry any of this.  Any association with me could mark you, make you a target.  I didn’t want that.  I didn’t want to put you in that position.”

Relena pressed her lips into a thin line and took a few steps toward him.  She raised her hands as if to touch him, but then stopped, seeming to doubt herself.  She instead clasped them before her.  Wufei felt himself trapped between a force that sought to pull away and retreat out of her range and another equally powerful force that wanted nothing more than to feel those hands on his skin.  It left him torn and immobile.  

At last Relena said, “I have been ‘marked’ for as long as I can remember.  Longer still, from a life I never knew.  I’ve survived because I’m surrounded by people who love me.  And while I and they know that all our best plans may not matter in the end...their strength gives me strength.  I know I’m not alone.  I know that I have reinforcements behind me and a defensive line in front.

“That’s all I wanted to be for you,” she continued.  “Quatre can charter a plane and give you both a doctor and a house to stay in.  Trowa can get you back on your feet again.  Heero can hold New York together.  Duo can protect your narrative across the halls of the ESUN.  None of them _had_ to do this.  None of them _should_ have done any of it, by your own logic.  But they did.  Because you’re family, because they care about you, because they’ll protect you however they can.  Why can’t I be part of that?  Why can’t I support and protect you too?”

Wufei swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.   _I’m afraid you’ll leave_ , his thoughts confessed.   _I’m afraid you’ll leave when you find out what lies at the bottom of the well I’ve thrown myself down.  I’m afraid it will be too much, even for you._

In his silence, she stretched out her hand, resting her palm against his cheek.  Instinctively, he twitched away at the touch but then stilled under her hand.

“It will be okay,” she assured.

“‘Okay’ is relative,” he heard himself say, loathing the defeat woven between his words.

“I know,” she said.  “We’ll get there.  Together.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 May 25**

For a week, he had drifted around her.  Close, but never close enough to touch.  Not after that first and only caress on her arrival.  For a week, she watched as he tested the waters around her, his uncertainty nearly suffocating them both which was quite a feat given the size of the house.

But slowly, oh so slowly, she had woven herself into the fabric of his life at the compound.

It started small at first: time spent co-located but not shared.  It transitioned when she had commented on the shadows under his eyes and he reluctantly admitted that he had not been sleeping well.  With some coaxing, Wufei had all but collapsed into her waiting arms on the sofa, falling fast asleep against her in the study.

From there they drew closer, sharing segments of books they were reading or observations of some local fauna that had alighted on the trees in the inner courtyard.  As dusk brought cooler temperatures, they’d walk among the olive trees at the back of the property and debate anything that popped into their heads.  

Relena took great joy in Wufei’s gradual return to himself and the intimacy it brought.  More than once he had followed her up into her bedroom arguing a point with fervor only to belatedly realize he had crossed into _her_ space.

Tonight was one such instance.  And has he began to retreat, Relena told him, “You can stay here tonight.  To sleep, I mean.”  She wasn’t sure what reaction she expected, but she held her breath as she awaited his answer.  There was hope and affection in those dark eyes.  But there was doubt too, and God help her if she couldn’t dispel it for good.  “I _want_ you to stay,” she clarified, “but only if you want to as well.”

She watched the muscles in his jaw clench as he considered her offer.  After a long time, he quietly replied, “I’d like that.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 June 3**

There was an anguished cry.  Sudden disorientation.  Then clarity in the darkness.  

Shaken, Relena found Wufei sitting upright in the bed beside her staring at the opposite wall as he sucked air in desperate gasps.   _Nightmare_.  She pushed herself up and stretched out a hand touch him.  He was shaking.  “It’s alright,” she murmured.  “You’re okay.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be me!”  

In the stunned silence that followed the strangled outburst, Relena watched as Wufei clapped a hand over his mouth.  The tremors that wracked his body grew as he bent forward over a raised knee.  He inhaled sharply and Relena realized he was crying.  The knowledge sent a bolt of cold dread through her insides.  “Hey…” she murmured, shifting closer to wrap her arms around his shoulders.  “You’re okay…”

“It wasn’t supposed to be me,” he repeated sounding nearly delirious.  “I wasn’t supposed to be Zero Five.  I wasn’t strong enough.  I wasn’t _her_.”

This shocked Relena and for a small eternity she was unsure of how to proceed, what to say that would relieve whatever horrors he’d dreamt that brought on this sudden revelation.  Questions swarmed in her head.  “Come here,” she coaxed, tugging him gently back down to the bed and into her arms.  To her further surprise, he fell into her without a shred resistance and buried his face against her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist.   _Oh, Wufei…_  She brought a hand up to comb her fingers through his dark hair as his breathing slowed.  “Who was she?”

A long time passed in silence between them and Relena felt as if the space around them, the grand scale of the house they currently resided in, was shrinking down to this room, this bed.  The universe had grown very small.  

“Lóng Mèilán,” he answered at last, his voice barely a whisper.  “She was my wife.”  Relena felt him shake his head against her shoulder as if to dispel the question before she could ask.  “It was arranged,” Wufei explained.  “We were kids.”

“And she was supposed to be Zero Five?”

“That was the plan.  She was all righteous aggression and demands for justice.  Our elders considered me too weak to pilot the Gundam.  And so she would be our warrior while I was to stay home...and help our colony fall.” [1]

“What happened?” Relena asked, the wheels in her head turning.

“She died,” was the simple reply.  “She was killed, defending us against an Alliance attack.”  

“I’m sorry.”

“So was I.”

Another heavy silence fell, and Relena worried her lower lip between her teeth.  “How old were you?” she asked at last.

“Thirteen.  I begged her ghost to give me the strength to fight in her stead.  I begged our elders to let me.”  He took a deep breath, steadier now.  The tears were already a distant memory.  “They were right though.  All along, they were right.  I wasn’t meant for that suit.  I wasn’t strong enough.  And in the end, I...I couldn’t save them.”  

The words broke Relena’s heart and she tightened her grip on him, as if he would slip through her fingers like sand.  “They weren’t, Wufei.  You did have the strength.  You still do.  It’s why you could keep fighting, all these years later.  It’s why you’re still alive.  Something for which I am infinitely grateful.”  Tucking her head, she kissed the crown of his head and murmured, “Please don’t let your ghosts tell you otherwise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] In Endless Waltz (and I think in some other source material) it’s revealed that Wufei’s colony, L5-A0206, was originally intended to be dropped on earth under the parameters of Operation Meteor. Wufei was not too pleased when he found this out, pointing to his piloting Gundam Zero Five as the means by which they’d get their justice and he would eradicate evil in the universe.


	22. Chapter 22

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 June 7**

Wufei set aside his book with an air of pent up frustration and drew his legs up to cross them on the sofa.  Shifting to face her, he said, “I’m not going to ‘get better.’” The words sounded tight in his throat.

Relena shook her head where she sat on the sofa beside him.  “Don’t be like that—”

“No, please...listen to me.”  Relena’s mouth snapped shut and waited, curious.  Wufei took a deep breath and continued, “There are...broken pieces of me that came long before what happened in February.  And up until February, I would have told you I was managing them rather well.  But the worst of them...the worst of them, I’ve been struggling to get back in their boxes ever since.  Even so, I have no reason to believe these things are going to go away or ‘get better’ because they have always been there.  I...I have always been like this.  And I need you to understand that.  Before you send yourself on some fool’s errand.”

Relena was silent for a time, considering this information.  Wufei seemed to buckle under her calm, averting his eyes to his lap where he had clasped his hands together.  He was waiting for her judgment, she realized.  She had none.  Instead, she reached out and took one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together.  “You said you were ‘managing’ before.  How can I help you manage now?”

Still looking down at their joined hands, the faintest of smiles graced Wufei’s lips and Relena recognized his relief.


	23. Chapter 23

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 June 16**

When Relena entered the master suite’s expansive bathroom, she found Wufei sitting on the tiled floor of the shower, the glass panes which surrounded him fogged with the heat of the running shower.  His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, while his head rested back against the wall.  His hair was unbound and stuck to his skin and the tile like so many ribbons of black ink.  He didn’t acknowledge her presence or open his eyes against the onslaught of water.

Hesitant to disturb his thoughts, Relena nonetheless tapped gently on the shower door.  When Wufei blinked his eyes open to look at her, she asked, “Can I come in?”

His gaze lingered on her face for a long moment before he nodded.  Permission granted, Relena stripped down, quickly folding her clothes in a bundle next to his much neater pile.  Stepping through the glass door and under the spray, she took a seat on the tile floor next to him.  She curled herself toward him, hands on his arm and cheek to his shoulder.  “What’s wrong?”

She felt him take a deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh.  Over the sound of the water, she heard him say, “You’re leaving.”

“So are you,” she reminded him.  In a week’s time, Tunisia would be far behind both of them.  Wufei said nothing in reply, and so Relena studied him in silence.  Something akin to grief had been etched into his face.  This was one of the pieces that wouldn’t ‘get better,’ she had come to learn during her stay.  The piece that doubted, the piece that loathed its own vulnerability.  She ran her fingers along his arm in a soothing caress and urged, “Talk to me.”  

This was followed by another heavy pause.  When Wufei did speak again, it was broken and unsure.  “You’re leaving,” he repeated, “and I.  I fear this was an aberration.  A passing kindness.  And when you leave here...you’ll allow some socially acceptable amount of time to pass.  And then you’ll fade away, back into your own life.  And I’ll never see you again.”  She watched him grimace and look away, as if ashamed by the admission.

Relena wouldn’t have it.  Pressing a chaste kiss against his shoulder, she said, “What a pair we are that after nearly a month together we’d assume that time would spell the demise of our relationship.  Because I worry too.  I worry that after living with me here, you’ve decided I’m not worth the effort.  That not only do you not need me—because you never really did—you don’t  _ want  _ me.”  She felt the pinpricks at her eyes and blinked back tears.  Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and focused on the warmth coming of his skin.  The words hurt to say, to acknowledge her own self-doubt.  

Looking up once more, she found his eyes on her again, his face betraying his surprise.  An idea struck her.  Relena gave him a coy smile and suggested, “Let’s make a pact.  Because we’re both being ridiculous.  Let’s agree right here and now that if ever we were to deviate from this path we’ve set before us, if ever we were to end it, that we would do so with wild abandon and violent fanfare.”  

Wufei laughed in spite of his earlier sulleness.  “Be careful.  You’re talking ‘clash of the titans’ level of personal destruction.”

Relena smiled.  “The fact that you’re a Gundam pilot would be no big deal once I’m through with you.”

“Two can play that game, you know,” Wufei cautioned, his grin turning devious.  “‘Darlian’ and ‘diplomat’ will never again be used together except for the irony.”

Now she laughed.  “Perhaps, but at least I would get Heero.”

“We splitting custody of our friends already?  You  _ do  _ plan ahead.”

Laughter bounced off of the tile around them before subsiding to the gentle calm that rolled over them both.  Reaching out, Relena cupped his cheek and held his gaze.  “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured, sobriety returning.  “Even after we leave.  Okay?”  Wufei studied her and her certainty for a time and then nodded.


	24. Chapter 24

**Winner Family Compound  
** **Outskirts of Douz, Tunisia  
** **207 June 18**

Trowa followed the sound of laughter as it reverberated through the expansive kitchen to find Relena retreating as Wufei shook a wooden spatula at her.  Still laughing, Relena caught sight of him as he approached. “Trowa!” she exclaimed, coming up for air.  “We’re running a little behind on dinner.”

“Because she keeps depleting my supplies!” Wufei fumed, going back to the wok that was heating on the stove top.  

As if to prove his point, Relena snagged another fistful of what looked to Trowa like slivered peppers from a nearby cutting board piled high with other colorful items.  She popped two strips into her mouth before Wufei could stop her.  “They’re good!” she informed them between bites.

“We’re in a Winner house,” Wufei reminded her.  “Of course they’re good.  They’ll taste better when cooked  _ together _ .  Now stop eating my ingredients!” He gave a final shake of the spatula and then up-ended the cutting board over the wok before she could make another run at it.  Even from a distance, Trowa could hear the oil pop and hiss as a welcome aroma filled the room and made his stomach rumble.  

Trowa then watched Relena return to Wufei’s orbit, stepping behind him and craning her neck over his shoulder to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.  The sweetness of the moment caught Trowa by surprise, as did the bashful smile that graced Wufei’s lips as Relena withdrew.   _ God, sometimes I really love being right,  _ he mused as he bit back the wide grin that threatened to appear on his lips.  

Relena then turned her attention to him and asked, “What can I get you to drink?” 

Trowa shrugged and shook his head, noncommittal.  “What do we have?”

“Not much by this point,” Wufei answered from the stove.  

Relena nodded with some dismay as she checked first the pantry...then the refrigerator...then the wine closet.  “There’s a few bottles of a beer and wine.  Why the Winners would have either in a family home I’m not entirely sure though.”

“For entertaining guests like me,” Trowa suggested, knowing full well what Quatre’s grocery list had accommodated.  He had a bottle of vodka in his own small kitchen in the guest house.

“We could also brew some tea if that’s preferred,” Relena suggested, glancing first at Trowa and then back to Wufei, looking for guidance.

“That could work,” Wufei acknowledged and Relena moved back to the pantry.  “Maybe an  _ wūlóng _ …”

“I wonder if they’d have any rock teas,” [1] Relena mused more to herself than either of them.

Trowa chuckled, “If anyone has them, it will be the Winners.”  He settled in to watch the two of them work, occasionally wading into conversation when it seemed safe to do so, and reflected.

Their time in Tunisia was drawing to a close.  The storm had passed in the world outside, and in a matter of days the three of them would be gone.  A new normal had settled in New York according to Heero and the press was no longer shadowing his every move.  Preventers was safe in its solidarity.  The ESUN had redirected its energy to debating the General Assembly’s agenda, to include the question of colonial independence.

But Wufei himself had faded into obscurity, and the five of them— _ Well, six really, _ Trowa thought as he watched Relena flit about the kitchen as Wufei’s sous chef—had deemed it safe for him to come home.  So go home they would, and whatever came of it, they’d face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Thanks go to [maevemauvaise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maevemauvaise/pseuds/maevemauvaise) for the suggestion


	25. Chapter 25

**NYC Preventers Branch  
** **New York, New York  
** **207 July 1**

Heero had spent the week prior to Wufei’s return either ensuring the man’s credentials had not in fact expired over his extended absence or building a small mountain of reading material on his— _ Wufei’s _ —desk to help bring his friend back up to speed with the goings-on in the Branch Office.  It was quite a task list, and to Wufei’s credit, he had offered to read whatever Heero sent him in advance.  Heero simply, stubbornly, refused to share until Wufei was well and truly  _ back _ .  He refused to steal what little remaining downtime the man had before the flood.

But he hadn’t been the only one who had been busy preparing for their Deputy’s return.  The thought brought a smile to his lips.

“What is it?”

Heero looked up at question.  Wufei watched him from where he stood opposite him on the subway car, his face betraying his curiosity and suspicion.  Heero shook his head, schooling his features.  “Nothing.”

“Doubtful.”

“Just thinking.  Don’t worry about it.”

They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, old habits returning to the surface like some choreographed dance half-remembered.  They entered the Branch Office building without fanfare and took the elevators up to the main suite.

As they entered, the administrative staff greeted them with wide smiles.  One of them, a younger man, stood and  stretched out a hand to Wufei.  “Welcome back!” he exclaimed and promptly buried their compatriot in questions.

As Wufei took the offered hand and began answering the bombardment as best as he could, Heero exchanged a look with the other executive assistant manning the front desk.  She gave him the slightest of nods and then disappeared toward the back of the suite.

_ Showtime _ .  As the pleasantries beside him subsided, Heero made a show of glancing at his watch.  “So this may be a bad time to tell you that the trains were more delayed than expected and we’re running late for an All Hands meeting.”

The look on Wufei’s face was priceless.  “ _ How  _ late?”

“About 15 minutes.”

“Heero—!” Wufei didn’t bother finishing his thought before setting off in the direction of the conference room.

Heero was hot on his heels.  “I’ve been gradually lowering the Chief’s expectations for months,” he informed his friend.  “And it’s your first day back.  He’s not going to care!”  Out of Wufei’s line of sight, and confident the man would not waste time and energy berating him face-to-face, Heero grinned.

As they rounded the corner, Heero slowed, allowing Wufei to pull several steps ahead of him.  From the added distance, he watched as his friend reached the closed door of the large conference room, placed his hand on the doorknob...took a deep breath...and swung the door open. 

The cacophony that greeted his entrance was stunning.  Applause and ‘welcome home’s and wordless cheers.  Heero smiled.   _ Perfect.  Mission accomplished. _

When he did finally reach the conference room himself, Heero stopped to lean in the doorway, hands casually tucked away in his pockets.  The entire division had crammed itself tight into any available space not occupied by festive banners or ribbon.  A large cake held pride of place at the head of the table.  Several of the more emotive agents and team leads had descended on Wufei, who still stood at the front of the room.  They showered him with unabashed affection, something which Wufei clearly was not expecting, judging by his flushed, speechless state.  

In the chaos, Wufei’s gaze sought Heero where he loitered at the periphery.  Heero answered the unspoken questions with a reassuring smile.   _ I had nothing to do with this. I just played my part _ , he thought, hoping his friend would be able to read as much between the lines.

Message received, Wufei took a shaky breath and fought a smile of his own.  Glancing down at the floor, he gathered his thoughts.  When he looked up, Heero nearly did a double-take: it was like going back in time.  Confident and sharp, Wufei turned to the Branch Chief and said, “I don’t know what kind of shop you’ve been running while I’ve been gone, but if cake at 1100 is a common occurrence, things are going to change.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Duo Maxwell’s Apartment  
** **Brussels, Belgium  
** **207 August 25**

Duo paced his apartment, mobile pressed to his ear.  His computer’s camera feed had given up the ghost earlier in the week, a constant source of frustration in the days since.  He liked  _ seeing  _ the people he was talking to.  It was easier to read the unspoken thoughts not easily conveyed in words.  

Thankfully, Wufei was pretty expressive even without the visual aid.  The thought brought a smile to Duo’s lips as his friend in New York brought him up to speed with how things had been since his return to the Preventers Branch Office.  Wufei railed against the process fouls and inefficiencies that had gone unchecked in his extended absence, and then a breath later would sheepishly recount the camaraderie and kindness the other agents had shown him.  The latter was clearly unexpected and was deeply appreciated, judging by Wufei’s shifting tone, but his pride would never allow him to acknowledge it publicly.

Their conversation turned then to Heero.  

“I think he’s just happy the press isn’t hounding him anymore.”

Duo snorted but had to agree.  Heero’s mood had brightened considerably following his visit to Brussels and Wufei’s return had brought a sense of normalcy back into his own interactions with his boyfriend.  “Yeah…” Duo sighed, then asked, “how  _ did  _ he handle that, by the way?  He never told me.”

“The most consistent question he got was whether he knew.”

“I’d assume as much.  What did he tell them?  Do you know?”

“He told me that he told them all that I was ‘exceptional in every way’ and that he ‘wasn’t in the least bit surprised’ that I was a Gundam pilot.”

Duo let loose a sharp bark of laughter and shook his head, unseen.  “That’s a good line,” he mused.

“Sounds like something you’d say.”

“Well, I mean...it’s not a  _ lie _ …” 

“It also doesn’t answer the question.”

Duo laughed heartily at this.  “‘Fei, if there is  _ anything  _ I have learned in this line of work, it’s to  _ never _ answer the question.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Winner Family Compound  
** **L4-V05001  
** **207 September 15**

The ESUN had approved a colony vote for December 208.  

Quatre could not imagine how they had managed to force it through and get it on the docket for the coming year.  He wondered idly who had sold their soul to make it happen and nearly laughed aloud at the thought, which brought the image of a grinning Duo Maxwell to the forefront of his mind’s eye.   _ Deal with the Devil indeed. _

“For the layman…” Trowa was saying on the screen before him, “what does all this mean?  What happens now?  And as a reminder, I work at a  _ circus  _ and therefore am not read into whatever compartmentalized knowledge pool the rest of you are wading in.”

“It means that everyone everywhere will have some brilliant idea on how to create four independent nations without crashing the global economy,” Quatre replied, not entirely able to keep the cynicism from his voice. “But we already know how we can avoid that. The ESUN has a veritable library of studies, I'm sure. Now though, everyone will be playing their own angles and Earth will be looking to get the better half of the deal. They're going to be losing vassal states after all. They've been counting on us as contributors to their bottom line for generations. That's quite a shock to absorb.”

The claws were out, Quatre knew. Backroom deals were already underway, arguably had been for years.  Negotiations over free trade agreements and favorable votes on ESUN agenda items were the currency of the day. It all made him very uneasy. For once, there was an item on the docket that well and truly  _ mattered _ to the entire Earth Sphere. The colonies  _ wanted _ it, which meant Earth had all the cards. 

In the years since his return to L4 and WEI, Quatre had often negotiated from a perceived position of weakness, but that was the thing: it was always a ruse. Now it was fact and the colonies’ futures hung in the balance. 

Apparently reading his unspoken thoughts, Trowa asked, “How long do you think the Island Councils will hold up to Earth pressure before caving?”

“Time will tell,” Quatre replied with a grimace. “I'm not an elected official; I can only lodge my concerns or provide my professional opinion.”

“You could change that, you know. If you wanted to.”

Quatre laughed bitterly at the suggestion… but he would have been lying to himself if he said he hadn't thought of it. A conversation from years ago rose up from buried memories and he shook his head to dispel the image of Dorothy Catalonia’s knowing smile. [1]  “Matters are not  _ that _ dire. Not yet.”

“Suit yourself,” Trowa said with a shrug, sounding entirely unconvinced. 

Quatre bit his tongue and then promptly changed the subject. “What about you? How are things?”

Trowa smirked at him from the video feed and Quatre knew he had recognized the diversion for what it was. Nonetheless, Trowa leaned back in his chair and mused, “The show goes on. A few new performers have joined as others have retired. When we're not rehearsing or in the ring, I'm working on the motorcycle.”

“How is it coming?” Trowa’s refurbishment of antique rides had become almost legendary among their inner circle. His work was truly stunning. 

Now it was Trowa’s turn to grimace. “I've struck out on some of the components and I'm coming to terms with having to make them custom.”

“Is that so terrible?”

“No,” Trowa assured, “but I prefer them to be all original. Like I've reunited all the pieces lost to time. Customized parts feels like cheating.” Quatre opened his mouth to object, but Trowa cut him off. “I know, I know: ‘It’s not cheating.’ But I'm not quite ready to give up the search just yet.”

“Well, whatever you choose, it will be beautiful,” Quatre said, utterly confident in this belief. “Same can be said for your photography.”

Trowa snorted. “ _ That _ I'm less inclined to believe.”

“Why? I've seen some of your work. I never would have thought you had taken those photos at the house in Douz.”

To Quatre's surprise, Trowa fell silent and a shy smile graced his lips. Quiet pride was an uncommon occurrence for the other man, and Quatre felt as if he had just shared some secret hope with him. 

“Thank you,” was all Trowa said in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Dorothy made a bet with Quatre [back in AC 205](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9576476/chapters/21654233) that within a decade, he'd be in public office.


	28. Chapter 28

**NYC Branch Office  
** **New York, New York  
** **30 November 207**

The phone on Wufei’s desk rang, disturbing the quiet that pervaded the branch after hours. He was once more the last one in the office, a habit that had resurfaced in the months that had followed his return. He glared at the device which had interrupted his concentration and his work.

He sighed in bitter resignation, “Please don't be HQ,” before answering with a terse, “Zhang.”

“Happy birthday!” came the sweet voice on the other end of the line.

All thoughts of finishing his report evaporated. Leaning back in his chair, he observed, “You  _ did _ remember.”

Relena laughed. “Off course I did. I actually called your apartment line until Heero got tired of hearing it ring and answered for you. He gave me your desk number.” She then berated him, “Why are you still at the office on your birthday?”

“Same reason you always are: I have work to do,” Wufei said.  “But Heero and I are going out with some of our friends on Friday. I wouldn't let him celebrate on a weeknight, which is good considering what he has planned doesn't bode well for my liver.” Relena laughed and the sound made him smile.

Since their respective returns to civilization, these calls had become routine, scheduled well in advance and preserved and protected from encroachment of their official duties. The surprise contact was appreciated. It brought with it an insidious contentment.  _ The report can wait until tomorrow _ , it whispered, and he was inclined to listen to it. Objectively speaking, Relena was rather good at derailing his workaholic tendencies.

As if reading his mind from afar, she asked, “You're going home soon,correct?” It wasn't really a question.

“Yes, yes…” Wufei groaned and started to shut down his system.

“Good. Because I'm looking at flights to Iceland and I'd rather neither of us were on the clock.”

As his computer powered off, Wufei propped his feet up on the desk, something he allowed himself tonight only because there were no witnesses. “What have you found?”

“I can get us both into Reykjavik within 30-60 minutes of each other. Same goes on the outbound, but it's more expensive for you.”

Wufei shook his head as if she could see him. “Price doesn't matter. Whatever is easiest.”

"In that case, I'll book something tonight. I trust you'll do the same?”

“You sound so passive aggressive about it,” he teased. “You have any doubts about my follow-through?”

“Of course not,” Relena assured, and to Wufei it sounded like she was smiling. “It's your boss I worry about. I want you confirmed to fly before he can get his hooks into you. I'm not going to hike glaciers and dormant volcanoes by myself, you know…”


	29. Chapter 29

**Quai Gustave-Ador  
** **Geneva, Switzerland  
** **25 December 207**

“Why _can't_ I get a tattoo?” Mariemaia demanded to know.

“Because you're only nineteen and if you get one, you'll have it forever,” Une said, peering at her daughter over the rims of her glasses.

Mariemaia watched her mother for a long moment. As time stretched in silence, Sally found it increasingly difficult to keep her thoughts to herself.

Thankfully, Mariemaia replied for her. “Sally is _covered_ in tattoos and you're _dating_ her.”

Sally couldn't help herself: she laughed. She then tried and failed to muffle the sound with a napkin. The hard look that Une had leveled on her daughter now found it's way to Sally, which only heightened her amusement. Regaining some of her composure, she said, “She’s got a point, you know.”

“ _And_ ,” Mariemaia threw in for good measure, “you said yourself that I'm nineteen. I'm an adult. I can do it if I want. Ultimately.”

Une sighed, her resistance crumbling. “Fine. Do as you wish. But you pay for it yourself. And Sally goes with you and helps you find a decent artist,” she said, stabbing a tomato with her fork.

Reluctant approval acquired, Mariemaia shot Sally an ecstatic grin. _Good God, when did we three get domestic,_ Sally wondered to herself.

The women had converged on Geneva and Sally’s apartment for the holidays, Une down from Brussels where Noin was holding down the fort of their small firm, Mariemaia from England where she had just wrapped up her first term of university at Oxford. When Sally had heard of the girl’s admission, her jaded half assumed it was because of her mother. She was therefore pleasantly surprised to find that it had been Wufei who had written her accolades as Mariemaia’s team lead in Xinjiang. Apparently not many applicants had spent their post-secondary time in the desert processing refugees for global citizenship.

Returning to schoolwork had been a bit of a culture shock, judging by their conversations over the last few days. The girl was impatient to do some good, an urge which had only grown exponentially in the fallout of Wufei's big reveal. The announcement of an independence vote only kindled it further.

 _All in good time_ , Sally thought as she watched the two most important women in her life speculate on what the future would bring, tension over tattoos already forgotten.


End file.
